I2ABBTH 


 
 THE ANCIENT 
 LANDMARK 
 
 A KENTUCKY ROMANCE 
 
 BY ELIZABETH CHERRY 
 
 WALTZ 
 
 REMOVE NOT 
 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK WHICH THY FATHERS 
 
 HAVE SET 
 PROVERBS, XXn, 28 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO. 
 MCMV
 
 Copyright, 1905, by 
 
 McCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO., 
 
 Published August, 1905
 
 To those men and women who take the larger 
 view and who walk in the light of it 
 
 2138800
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I A BARK TO BROOK NO STORMY SEA ... 3 
 II A VERY CAITIFF CROWNED WITH CARE . . 13 
 
 III THOU HAST NO TONGUE TO TELL WHO 
 
 MARTYRED THEE 29 
 
 IV SHE Is MY GOODS, MY CHATTELS ... 51 
 V A DEED WITHOUT A NAME 69 
 
 VI IN THE VEIN OF CHIVALRY 85 
 
 VII WHO EVER LOVED THAT LOVED NOT AT 
 
 FIRST SIGHT 97 
 
 VIII WITH GRIEF THAT'S BEAUTY'S CANKER . .109 
 
 IX HERE'S TO THE PANG THAT PINCHES . . . 120 
 
 X PRISONER IN A RED ROSE CHAIN .... 130 
 
 XI MEN'S Vows ARE WOMEN'S TRAITORS . .139 
 
 XII PLUCKED FROM THE MEMORY A ROOTED 
 
 SORROW 159 
 
 XIII A WOMAN'S NAY DOTH STAND FOR NAUGHT . 174 
 
 XIV CAPTIVE TO His HONEY WORDS . . , .186 
 XV MOST LOVE'S MERE FOLLY 202
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER FACE 
 
 XVI LORD, WE KNOW WHAT WE ARE BUT NOT 
 
 WHAT WE MAY BE 210 
 
 XVII IN THE DARK BACKGROUND AND ABYSM OF 
 
 TIME 223 
 
 XVIII HERE Is MY JOURNEY'S END 234 
 
 XIX METHINKS THE AFFRIGHTED EARTH SHOULD 
 
 YAWN AT ALTERATION 247 
 
 XX So TRUE A FOOL Is LOVE 258
 
 PROLOGUE
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 GENERATIONS ago there rode over the 
 Alleghanies on a young horse one of those 
 Virginia youths to whom the tales of the 
 vast hunting and pleasure grounds of the Indians 
 in Kentucky were like glimpses of a new paradise. 
 He made quest of lands to which he held claim 
 because of the services of one Fordyce Fairfax, a 
 young captain of the Revolutionary War. This 
 Fordyce Fairfax had sighed out his heart and his 
 life in 1 78 1, from the effects of the thrust of a rusty 
 bayonet, and had left this military claim to his 
 young sister, Anne, who kept it for her first born 
 son, one Fordyce Beardsley. She did not live to see 
 him claim it, but, after a wild season at old Har- 
 vard, he set forth over the dividing mountains, 
 leaving kith and kin behind, and for a season was 
 lost to the more civilized world save through some 
 rare letters that reached his aged grandfather in 
 an old manor-house on the Potomac River.
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 These spoke of a successful settlement some 
 fifty miles in the wilderness from the growing 
 town of Lexington. He sent home a parcel of 
 rare skins one winter and Indian gewgaws to his 
 younger cousins. Later he wrote of his marriage 
 to a maiden, Willa Childress, "of lineage good 
 even as mine own," and of the new cabin he had 
 builded. Two years later, on the day before 
 Christmas, old Fordyce Fairfax, eagle-eyed and 
 alert at seventy years, saw a horseman riding 
 along the snow-covered river path, followed by 
 another mounted figure that he took to be a wo- 
 man-servant. The old Revolutionary soldier 
 knew such travellers well, and long ere the 
 horseman had come half-way up the tree-arched 
 avenue, he was met by a joyous assemblage of 
 white and black, shouting, half mad with joy 
 over the return of "young Marse Fordyce." 
 
 The traveller dismounted with difficulty for his 
 grandfather's embrace. He was yet a slender 
 youth, a downy beard upon his chin. The old 
 man shuddered at his emaciation. 
 
 "Where's your wife ? Are you ill, my boy ?" 
 
 The wanderer gave a wan smile. 
 
 "She is dead, sir, and I have come home to 
 die." 
 
 He walked in the bleak sunshine to the figure 
 on the second horse. He took from it a bundle 
 that had been hidden in the folds of a heavy, fur-
 
 PROLOGUE xi 
 
 lined riding-cloak. His eyes wandered over the 
 group and singled out that black Aunt Dolly who 
 had been his own foster-mother, although she 
 was still a comely woman of eight and thirty. He 
 went to her and laid the bundle in her arms. 
 
 "Here's what I have left," he said brokenly, 
 then walked slowly to the house, his arm in that 
 of his grandfather. 
 
 The bundle proved to be a six months' old son. 
 He had brought a widow woman over the moun- 
 tains to care for the child, and she waited until 
 spring to return, as the journey could not well be 
 made so late in the winter. From her, but not 
 from the weary young master, was learned the 
 stormy story of pioneer life, the struggle for ex- 
 istence in the cabin on the clearing, and the young 
 wife's death, caused indirectly by a fight with 
 a panther which had made Fordyce Beardsley a 
 physical wreck. In the next spring-time the widow 
 woman went back over the mountains with a new 
 husband, and the young master charged them to 
 keep his clearing, hoping, in spite of his poor 
 health, to return in another year. 
 
 It was not to be. He lived to see his yellow- 
 haired child grow happy and merry in the midst 
 of a dozen romping second cousins. He begged 
 them to bury him with a poor little silhouette of 
 his girl wife on his heart. One day the old man 
 sat desolate in his hall with nothing to remind
 
 rii PROLOGUE 
 
 him of his sister Anne but an exquisite por- 
 trait painted in England, on the wall, a claim to 
 some hundreds of acres in the new State of Ken- 
 tucky, and a blond child that had not about him 
 one look of the Fairfaxes or the Beardsleys. 
 
 The old man saw this Fordyce Beardsley over- 
 top the sons of his other sons in stature and out- 
 strip them in mental attributes. He lived to see 
 him enter his father's college. He left him the old 
 home on the Potomac and permission to marry 
 his second cousin, Lucy Rose, of which the young 
 man took immediate advantage. He thereafter 
 lived the life of a comfortable and elegant coun- 
 try gentleman, honoured by all, although by some 
 deemed a little peculiar on account of loose and 
 heterodox views on religious questions. In 1830 
 he visited Kentucky for a brief season and dis- 
 posed of his land there for a fortune as the times 
 went. He had in him a shrewd vein which he 
 showed by investments which were always suc- 
 cessful. He became a man of affairs and travelled 
 abroad. 
 
 The eldest of his two sons was named Fordyce 
 as the family name, but the second was called 
 Lucian. In this generation strange traits cropped 
 out, for that is the subtle way in which dead men 
 tell tales, to say nothing of dear, dead women. 
 Fordyce was tall and fair, but Lucian was like 
 nothing so much as a gaunt and sinewy Indian
 
 PROLOGUE riii 
 
 boy, and his sister Willa resembled him, with 
 little hint of that lovely and fascinating beauty of 
 which the Fairfax and Beardsley women had ever 
 been proud. The father gnawed his lips and said 
 nothing, but, after his return from the Kentucky 
 sojourn, he told his wife that which made her 
 look with a half-afraid horror at some of the 
 movements of her younger children. It froze her 
 tears when the wilful, high-cheeked Willa lay, a 
 still corpse, in the drawing-room, and all the 
 countryside mourned. She kept her grave cov- 
 ered with flowers, but it was surely best, it was 
 surely best, she often told herself. 
 
 By the same irony of Fate the fair son was 
 drowned in Lake Geneva the year after his grad- 
 uation from his father's old alma mater. There 
 was left the tall, lithe, taciturn Lucian. No one 
 guessed his true nature for he was a silent man. 
 He finished his college course in accordance with 
 his father's wishes, then came home to aid him 
 and to study law during three winters in Rich- 
 mond. The agitation before the Civil War held 
 him in its fullest intensity. He and his father 
 came very near together in the days when men's 
 hearts anticipated the tattoo of the call to arms 
 and their passions kept their emotions wrought 
 up to white heat. 
 
 The father was not idle in the years before the 
 war. He was thoroughly Southern, but his shrewd
 
 riv PROLOGUE 
 
 business sagacity anticipated the actual outcome. 
 He believed that the hour was at hand when slav- 
 ery was to come to an end either with or without 
 war. For two years he prepared for the coming 
 storm. His wealth was guarded, he had few 
 young negroes, and he persuaded his wife to take 
 an orphan niece and go to Paris, meaning to join 
 her within the year. 
 
 When the storm broke, he could not make up 
 his mind to leave his son. When Lucian donned 
 his captain's uniform, the father's proud eye dis- 
 cerned the born fighter, the outcome of that 
 strange alliance with the Childress family a cen- 
 tury before. He never looked at Lucian without a 
 picture in his mental eye of that Indian babe who 
 had been found lying at the door of a pioneer 
 cabin in the mountains by one Bogardus Child- 
 ress, a fur trader, who had emigrated early from 
 the Carolinas. Bogardus adopted the boy and 
 kept him till the arrival of another Childress 
 brother, Huon, with his family, some six years 
 later. This Indian boy had been bred up as a 
 white man, and being of a noble and gentle dis- 
 position, he won and married Blanche Childress 
 after having been baptized by a priest and tak- 
 ing the name of his adopted father. Fordyce 
 Beardsley knew that, in Lucian, this dead-and- 
 gone Indian ancestor strongly asserted himself. 
 He arose from his forgotten grave beside his
 
 PROLOGUE xv 
 
 pioneer wife (herself of an old Huguenot stock), 
 and again faced the world as a brave and a 
 warrior. 
 
 They sat one day, just after the war storm 
 broke, in the library of Fairfax Woods, the fine 
 old Virginia home. Lucian was to leave for 
 Richmond in two days. He was calm and proud, 
 but his eye wandered over the paintings on the 
 walls, the familiar furniture, the landscape, with 
 a prescience that amounted to a farewell. 
 
 "There is but one thing I now regret, Lucian," 
 said his father. " I might as well tell you. I ex- 
 pressed to you several years ago the disapproval 
 I should feel at any attentions you might pay 
 Miss Venetia Bowen," he began. 
 
 Lucian started and gave a quick, sidelong 
 glance at his father. 
 
 "I wish now that I had not denied you. It is a 
 hard thing to have only one son, and I wish I 
 had not denied you." 
 
 Lucian came around to the table and folded 
 his arms. He stood silent and motionless for a 
 time. 
 
 "Then you will not mind it, father, when I tell 
 you we have been married for six months. You 
 see, sir, she was so poor and I could not go away 
 and fight like a man, leaving her here alone. 
 You may have to look after her later on." 
 
 The father did not go to Paris, for he took his
 
 xvi PROLOGUE 
 
 son's word as a command. Captain Lucian 
 Beardsley died on the battlefield of Bull Run, and 
 the young wife died the next day ere she heard 
 the news, leaving a desolate old man in charge of 
 twin boys in the war-torn city of Richmond. 
 
 He could not be blamed for his next action, al- 
 though he was afterwards accused of cowardice, 
 He carried the children to France and, for a num- 
 ber of years, lived there, until the death of his 
 wife forced him to bring her body to her old 
 home. With him came the two boys, Fordyce and 
 Lucian, their youth to sweeten all his later days 
 with absolute devotion. The old man was father, 
 mother, and grandfather to them. They were 
 alike, though one was fairer than the other and 
 strangely congenial. They seemed a combination 
 of elemental forces. The only apparent difference 
 of feeling between the boys was that Fordyce was 
 religious, while to religion Lucian was startlingly 
 indifferent. And they grew to manhood ; Lucian, 
 the darker twin, was the handsomer, the more 
 daring and brilliant. There seemed to the weary 
 old man, whose fond eyes they closed, to be a 
 singular freedom and unconventionality about 
 him that suggested his Indian ancestor no less 
 strongly than the personal appearance of the 
 Confederate captain. 
 
 The grandfather, Fordyce Beardsley, who was 
 born in the Kentucky clearing, died in 1885
 
 PROLOGUE xvii 
 
 while the twins were still in the old college at 
 Cambridge. The new Fordyce went abroad after 
 his graduation, found congenial times and man- 
 ners in England, and married an English girl of 
 noble family and connections. The old home had 
 been sacked and ruined during the war. Lucian 
 lived in New York, Paris, anywhere. He was 
 strangely in accord with the free life of the end of 
 the century, and he lived much as he desired. Wo- 
 men had not been an essential part of his early 
 life, and he found youth slipping easily by with 
 little anxiety or ennui. Of late years his chief 
 pleasure was a stable of good horses, and he had 
 an idea of selecting a string to take to England 
 some day. Fordyce was there and had one or two 
 children whom his brother had never seen. 
 
 The selection of these horses led him to Ken- 
 tucky. He had always intended going there. 
 Old Fordyce Beardsley had told the boys the 
 story of their lineage. He dwelt upon the brief 
 sojourn of his own boyish father in the state 
 during its crucial period, and he desired that 
 they should visit the spot at some period in their 
 lives. Nor did he neglect to speak of that Indian 
 ancestor, whose forgotten grave lay on the side of 
 the southeastern mountains, and who had been 
 reincarnated in their father's face, courage, and 
 disposition, to die a soldier's death for a most sor- 
 rowful and lost cause.
 
 CHAPTER ONE 
 
 A BARK TO BROOK NO STORMY SEA 
 
 MAY in Kentucky. It was the festival of 
 the year in that pleasure-ground of Na- 
 ture. The very heavens seemed to smile 
 over all the world with a tenderer, more trans- 
 lucent blue from day to day. Growth ran riot. 
 Tender things sprang out of the earth in a night, 
 hastened and ran about to cling to and clasp 
 sister and brother growths, and entwine as sleep- 
 ing babes in the same cradle. The long branches 
 of splendid trees hung low for vines to reach 
 upward and hold upon. Everywhere was that 
 same generous, over-full, ever-giving wealth of 
 stalk and tendril and bud and prodigal bloom. 
 Frequent warm showers were only harbingers of 
 more gaudy sunshine, more flaming blossoms, 
 more drunken bees overloaded and cloyed with 
 sweets. 
 
 One morning there stood upon a gallery built 
 3
 
 4 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 about the second story of a plain, whitewashed 
 wooden house, a group of Kentucky men, or, as 
 they best love to hear it phrased, "Kentucky 
 gentlemen." They were men of a strong type, 
 fused and welded from diverse stocks by time 
 and circumstance. The composite was good to 
 see. It was brawn and some brain. It was with- 
 out fear, and it held honour high. It was patient 
 and sweet-tempered at its best, but its anger was 
 fierce and relentless. It had in it a strange and 
 courtly chivalry, yet, if brought into contact with 
 men of great Eastern cities, it possessed a certain 
 suggestion of the bucolic, a certain reservation 
 which actually meant dwelling in the midst of 
 generous spaces and good privacy. 
 
 When once the type was recognized the mem- 
 bers of the group on the gallery were like the 
 notes of a scale upon an instrument. Some were 
 high, some were low, others only semi-tones of a 
 neighbour. Most of them were quite fair, blue of 
 eye, light of hair, and tawny of beard. Those who 
 were smooth of face retained grave but boyish 
 expressions. 
 
 Before the group on the gallery spread a beau- 
 tiful expanse of rolling country, bounded only by 
 hazy blue mists on the horizon. Here and there 
 noble groups of trees appeared, again there was a 
 red-brick house in the distance or a whitewashed 
 cabin whose smoke arose up as straight as that of
 
 CHAPTER ONE 5 
 
 an accepted sacrifice. Nearer were the hay mead- 
 ows, pastures of blue-green grass, thick hedges. 
 Directly before the house lay a half-mile track, 
 a row of whitewashed stable sheds, and sever- 
 al cabins. It was the private race-track and 
 view stables of a Kentucky horse-breeder and 
 buyer. 
 
 The owner, Colonel Buckman, was now ges- 
 ticulating below. His nephew, Ethelbert Sugg, 
 was on the gallery with several visitors and horse- 
 buyers from Lexington. Ethelbert was exceed- 
 ingly tall, and he blushed easily. Still he bore him- 
 self like a man, and he showed a shrewd knowl- 
 edge of horse-flesh and of men. Beside him stood 
 the Virginian whose lineage we know, Lucian 
 Beardsley. He was, in the midst of that group, a 
 singular figure. Nearly as tall as the Kentuckians, 
 he was so well proportioned that one forgot his 
 height. His well-cut hair was thick and black, but 
 not coarse. He was fair with a warm fairness that 
 was not ruddy. His brows were delicately arched, 
 his one inheritance from his mother. His eyes 
 were clear, dark brown and bright. His lips were 
 full, red, and sensitive. It was, however, certain 
 subtler characteristics that most distinguished 
 him. He was as alert as the panther that had been 
 his great grandfather's death, as softly stealthy 
 in his unfathomable expression as his Indian an- 
 cestor, and yet he was as polished, as finished a
 
 6 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 product of the nineteenth century as the times 
 and the manners and culture could produce. 
 
 It was not without a lively and a healthy inter- 
 est that this man had come into Kentucky. In- 
 deed, whenever he saw the word printed it was 
 as though some sharp string of memory twanged. 
 He had read much of it, he knew its romantic and 
 absorbing history, and he came to it with the feel- 
 ing of reverence Kentucky expects only from her 
 sons. But he was not prepared for the phantas- 
 magoria, the illimitable miracle of prodigality 
 with which Nature rewards her worshipping del- 
 vers in Kentucky soil, all her shepherds and her 
 land princes. Here indeed were cakes and ale. 
 Here indeed the heart could be young, the pulse 
 merry. He was stirred from all his poises and bal- 
 ances. Life seemed to be a continual picnic and a 
 festival. It stirred him more to see a bareheaded 
 woman in a diaphanous gown saunter down the 
 streets of a Kentucky town under her light para- 
 sol, than to view the pretended nudity of the 
 chorus girls on a New York opera stage. Women 
 to him had been one of the luxuries of life as can- 
 died cherries add a sweet zest to a compound 
 drink. On this soil she was the wine of life and a 
 wine that made him a little dizzy. 
 
 Buying horses is a good excuse for dawdling. 
 Lucian Beardsley could dawdle. He went about 
 all his pursuits and pleasure like a gentleman.
 
 CHAPTER ONE 7 
 
 There was little of the beast in him by nature or 
 descent, and he continued his election to a decent 
 course in life as a happy event, not as a thing to 
 be dallied with or sullied. Nature had her way 
 with him in Kentucky, but only made his soul 
 waxen for the impress of a fate and a future that 
 was bearing down upon him. 
 
 He had to come out to this sale from Lexing- 
 ton because of the fame of several two-year-olds 
 having reached the buyers. As yet he had only 
 succeeded in buying Fordyce a famous saddle 
 horse for which he had a commission from over 
 the sea. There was one horse near this place of 
 which many kind things had been said, but it 
 belonged to a half-mad doctor whose words were 
 not to be depended upon. This man had been 
 boasting the night before at Colonel Buckman's 
 expense in front of the Grafton Hotel, and he then 
 promised to bring over this vaunted " Kentucky 
 Cupid" and let Lucian time him. As yet he had 
 not made his appearance, and the sale went on 
 rather monotonously. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock before the lank Ethelbert 
 called out with a twist of his shoulders : 
 
 " Foah Gawd, the doctor's coming ovah field 
 with Kentucky Cupid." 
 
 Snatching the glass, Lucian Beardsley turned 
 it to the south. Over the blue-grass pasture rode 
 the slim figure of the doctor, a small darkey rid-
 
 8 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 ing another horse. At the latter animal the Vir- 
 ginian gazed with intense interest. There was no 
 doubt but that it was the most promising looking 
 horse in the country. 
 
 "Wondah he's up," remarked Ethelbert; 
 "leastways he usually sleeps all day and prowls 
 of nights." 
 
 "Queer habits," remarked Lucian, taking a 
 cigar from his teeth. 
 
 "He's a demon," broke in another man, "or 
 as nigh it as we want in these parts. If I war sure 
 all those tales ' 
 
 "Now don't you belie a neighbour," broke in 
 a third man; "he went to school with we all. " 
 
 "Ef it war not foah that, Allison," said the 
 other, flushing red, "we none of us could rest 
 in our beds." 
 
 "Is he dangerous ?" inquired Lucian with cu- 
 riosity. 
 
 "He is all right ef it was not foah some drugs 
 he uses," said Ethelbert shortly, "and he takes 
 them free, as the best o' men sometimes take 
 their whisky, gentlemen. " 
 
 By this time the small negro had guided the 
 horse through a gate onto the track and cantered 
 him easily down. 
 
 Lucian's heart bounded. This was a noble 
 horse, an equine king. Little need to call for his 
 pedigree, to examine his registration. The satin
 
 CHAPTER ONE 9 
 
 flanks shone red in the sunshine, quivering deli- 
 cately. The small head was erect with a con- 
 scious pride and spirit. The beautiful eye was 
 human in its intelligence. He curvetted, leaped, 
 neighed with joyous spirit and sagacious cour- 
 age. 
 
 As Lucian looked, delighted, on this fine crea- 
 ture, the shy Ethelbert was giving him the full 
 history of the horse and his trials at speeding. 
 The doctor reached the house and mounted the 
 outside stairs of the gallery. He came toward 
 the men at the rail with a silly, aimless smile and 
 glazed eyes. Looking upon him, Lucian detected 
 that odour which at once connects itself with the 
 Chinaman of the slums. 
 
 "Faugh!" he thought, "I will buy the horse, 
 for I feel sorry that he has such an owner. " 
 
 "Shall we time this Cupid ?" he asked of the 
 pallid man who had been gazing absently at the 
 group below. 
 
 "O yes, O yes," was the quick reply. "You'll 
 find him more than you bargained for, Mr. 
 Beardsley. Sugg, isn't there a drink here ? I got 
 up too early." 
 
 Some one handed him a bottle, from which he 
 took a long draught. He then sat, more ani- 
 mated, close to the rail to watch the start of 
 Kentucky Cupid. 
 
 They were fixing stirrup or saddle when Lu-
 
 io THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 cian raised the glass to scan every foot of the 
 track. His vision took in the pasture over which 
 Doctor DeWitt and the roan horse had passed. 
 Here the man's eyes met a sight they would not 
 soon forget. 
 
 A woman was running like mad over the pas- 
 ture grass. She wore no hat and held up her gown 
 to help her speed. Her hair was almost red as the 
 shining flanks of Kentucky Cupid. He could see 
 her very well through the clear glass. Her face 
 was white and her round bosom rose and. fell as 
 with angry sobs. Sometimes she stumbled, some- 
 times she had to stop to breathe, but still she 
 came on and on toward them. 
 
 A shout from the Colonel. Kentucky Cupid 
 was to start. The Virginian collected his senses to 
 watch the seconds, but it was a supreme effort. 
 His attention, curiosity, interest, were all with 
 that stumbling creature who ran as one pursued. 
 Her course was straight for the group below him. 
 What tragedy or what comedy brought her so 
 breathlessly ? His blood ran swifter in his veins. 
 This was a land for mad impulses and strange 
 happenings. 
 
 The horse came on gallantly, easily. There 
 was a great shout from below. Lucian leaned 
 down and called out exultantly: 
 
 "Fifty-four and a half! Good colt) He'll 
 bear training. Good horse !"
 
 CHAPTER ONE 11 
 
 The woman was now running close against the 
 fence. The Virginian turned to the haggard man 
 beside him. 
 
 "I'll buy that horse if we can come to terms. 
 He is good stuff." 
 
 " I told you! " cried the doctor. Great drops of 
 sweat stood over his bushy eyebrows. His mouth 
 and fingers worked nervously. 
 
 "Your price?" said Lucian impatiently. He 
 could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Those 
 Lexington men were not asleep. The man before 
 him was evidently making a supreme effort to 
 collect his faculties. He made several attempts to 
 speak, and only mumbled something which 
 sounded like a price in thousands. 
 
 " I'll take him," said Lucian, and then a hurry- 
 ing woman sped in between him and the miser 
 able figure of the man. 
 
 It was the woman who ran. Her light print 
 gown was drabbled and grass-stained. Her au- 
 burn hair was falling down. Her breath came in 
 pants as does an animal's. She was as frightened 
 as a child, yet her desperation drove her 
 on. 
 
 "O sir, you must not listen. He should not sell 
 the horse." 
 
 "Go home, and go to hell!" suddenly yelled 
 the doctor. His face was livid. 
 
 Steps were coming up hurriedly.
 
 12 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "Go home, I tell you!" came a hideous yell, 
 "the horse is already sold." 
 
 The woman turned her large and pitiful eyes 
 on Lucian. She clutched his sleeve. 
 
 "You must not buy him. He is mine, the last 
 thing that my father gave me. He shall not sell 
 him. He does not know what he is doing. " 
 
 For comment the madman jumped forward 
 and struck her down. Her face lay on the foot of 
 the Virginian, her abundant hair mercifully cov- 
 ering it.
 
 CHAPTER TWO 
 
 A VERY CAITIFF CROWNED WITH CARE 
 
 IT was sunset of the same day. The Virginian 
 sat in a comfortable steamer-chair upon the 
 broad portico of Colonel Buckman's brick 
 mansion-house. He had, without the least hesita- 
 tion, accepted that gentleman's invitation to 
 remain with him a few days and to accompany 
 him into neighbouring counties to see horses upon 
 which the Kentuckian had kept an eye since they 
 were foaled. He had been given a large guest-room 
 on the first floor, and found that his baggage had 
 preceded him from Grafton. He put himself in 
 order and appeared in answer to the tinkle of a 
 bell which he guessed meant the supper of the 
 Kentucky country house. 
 
 His brain was still in a whirl after the morning 
 scene. Some one nay, it was the shy Ethelbert 
 himself had snatched up the stricken woman 
 at his feet and hurried off with her. He saw strong 
 
 '3
 
 i 4 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 hands laid on Dr. DeWitt and heard that curses 
 not loud but deep, accompanied a sharp lecture, 
 while the man was hustled on to his horse. He 
 thought he heard Colonel Buckman's voice in 
 low, fierce execration at the stirrup, then a cut 
 from a whip sent the mare out into the pasture 
 again. The men about Lucian breathed hard for 
 a while and looked moody. There was a curious 
 reservation about the anger of these Kentuck- 
 ians that Lucian Beardsley did not understand. 
 His blood had welled up hotly and more fiercely 
 than ever before in his life. He was stirred as 
 never before. A mist blinded his eyes and a pa- 
 ralysis clutched at his throat. 
 
 The sale went on. A lunch was served in the 
 lower part of the house at noon, a sumptuous 
 meal of fried chicken, beaten biscuits, coffee, 
 strawberry shortcake and sweetcakes. Staid ne- 
 gro women in neat gowns and white aprons wait- 
 ed upon them. Lucian ate and drank while won- 
 dering that the others could and did. In him 
 throbbed the sudden consciousness of the tragedy 
 that underlies all human life. He had been be- 
 lated in getting this consciousness. The world 
 had gone very well with him. His spirit had never 
 before been touched to a fine issue, but he sud- 
 denly realized that there were in him strong feel- 
 ings which he had not known despite his educa- 
 tion, travel, worldly wisdom and experiences.
 
 CHAPTER TWO 15 
 
 He had skimmed existence as a skater skims over 
 thin ice, while below are depths of death. 
 
 After dinner the exhibition and sale went on, 
 but in these activities he now had little inclina- 
 tion or interest. He smoked silently under a great 
 elm tree, wondering what had become of the wo- 
 man. He respected the proud reserve of the men 
 about him. He felt that he was an alien and she 
 must be protected from impertinent thought as 
 one of themselves. He remembered the look on 
 the thin face of young Sugg as he snatched her 
 away from observation. It was one which might 
 have been depicted upon the face of a Knight of 
 the Round Table, so sorrowful, protecting, and 
 shielding. Yet young Sugg was now among the 
 men the same as ever, awkardly alert, attentive 
 enough, but with such reservation of speech and 
 attitude as forbade questions. 
 
 Lucian Beardsley was startled at his own 
 strange fancies. Thoughts haunted him like dis- 
 embodied spirits. A woman struck down ? Bah! 
 He had seen a hundred drunken drabs in foul 
 places fall and falling, struck down, pushed aside 
 with brutal haste and passion. He had also 
 looked upon dead women of society, whiter, 
 fairer in their burial robes than the lilies and 
 roses and violets with which they were covered. 
 
 He had then idly wondered what these maids 
 and matrons of fashion would find ahead of
 
 1 6 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 them, whether they would penetrate a state where 
 the entire falseness of their training would be 
 made manifest to them. Women ? Why, women 
 were solely for the pleasure of men who had that 
 tendency as a weakness. It amused some men to 
 woo, to disdain, to choose and dispose of crea- 
 tures feminine. His twin brother, Fordyce, had 
 that common weakness, but Lucian had not been 
 able to sympathize with his early marriage. He 
 thought his sister-in-law fair but stupid and 
 wholly without the chic and vogue that made 
 women at all endurable. The dumb content in 
 the eyes of his twin when they rested upon his 
 wife and children rather exasperated Lucian. 
 The two had grown up without any decided 
 impress from woman, and had done very well. 
 Why should Fordyce have so soon capitulated 
 to the silken string of a petticoat and have mort- 
 gaged his life interests to the dictates of a month- 
 ly nurse ? Lucian had never given marriage a 
 moment's earnest thought. He played the gen- 
 tleman and paid his way royally. Fordyce had 
 renewed the stock legitimately and the name 
 would live. 
 
 The sale was not over until late in the after- 
 noon; then the Eastern man waited for his host 
 who had many arrangements to make. Coionel 
 Buckman was short and red-faced, but he was 
 never flustered or undetermined. He finally
 
 CHAPTER TWO 17 
 
 placed Lucian in a much-used buggy and drove 
 him at a spanking pace up a lane to the great 
 house where he was master. A very black negro 
 was in waiting at the front steps, and to him the 
 Colonel confided the guest while he drove his 
 mare on to the house stables himself. 
 
 As the guest came out into the wide hall from 
 his room the Colonel was waiting, and beside 
 him stood a tall and spare lady in whose face 
 was that mild yet proud expression rarely seen 
 now save in old portraits hidden in out-of-the- 
 way places. It would not do to apply the word 
 "women" to these dames. There is only one 
 word fitting for them, and that is the lovely one 
 of olden time, "the lady." 
 
 "This is my wife, Mr. Beardsley," said the 
 Colonel in a very gentle voice for him ; " she was 
 with Mrs. DeWitt when you arrived." 
 
 "I hope you will enjoy your stay," said the 
 wife. Not so much the words but the smile with 
 it warmed Lucian's heart and relieved the terri- 
 ble tension under which he had been all the 
 afternoon. He answered the smile with one so 
 dazzling that Mrs. Buckman at once coloured 
 shyly. Rarely was seen such a man as Lucian 
 Beardsley in the quiet country houses about 
 Broad Acres. 
 
 He was placed at his hostess's right hand at a 
 small, circular table. It had been pushed close
 
 1 8 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 to the porch window and set off with red rose- 
 buds in a crystal vase. Lucian thought it a 
 lovely picture, this dainty, elderly lady serving 
 tea, with her soft, gray hair, her lilac gown, her 
 bits of lace and her dainty apron. He looked 
 from her husband to her. Between them, al- 
 though they seemed an ill-assorted pair, there 
 were the strong bonds of peace and love. 
 
 To her, then, they had brought that poor 
 young creature. Suddenly Lucian realized, with 
 a sick shudder, the full meaning of the morn- 
 ing's scene. That man's wife ? God! Were there 
 such things in this place, this festival-spot of 
 all Nature ? Were there thorns in the blossom- 
 ing hedges, cankers on the rose petals ? Were 
 there tragedies going on in these wide-windowed 
 houses, stealing through the great corridors and 
 out of the big-hinged doors ? 
 
 His host was talking horses and politics to 
 an inattentive ear. He managed to reply, but 
 with wandering wits. He was glad, after the meal, 
 to be allowed to sit alone upon the porch for a 
 brief time. The universe had upheaved and he 
 did not know whether he had any footing as 
 yet. He quivered still when he thought of the 
 woman who fell at his feet and the villainous 
 madness of her husband's face. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Buckman came out to him 
 and sat near him in a low willow-rocker. With a
 
 CHAPTER TWO 19 
 
 sigh of relief Lucian contemplated the faded 
 delicacy of her features. Surely the nipping 
 frosts of adversity had been tempered here. She 
 was like a sweet late rose, a fragile thing whose 
 petals would soon fall. He wanted to question 
 her, but there was that in her manner which 
 defied curiosity. 
 
 She spoke, however, in an even, gentle way, 
 of the very subject seething in his brain. 
 
 "You will not think of keeping Dr. DeWitt 
 to the sale of that horse, Mr. Beardsley ?" 
 
 "No, no! But," with a sudden frown, "it 
 would make it easier for me to understand it 
 all. I wanted that horse as soon as I saw him." 
 
 "Mrs. DeWitt's father gave the horse to her 
 before he died," replied the lady, quite as evenly 
 as before. "She looks to him to redeem in the 
 future that part of her property that is under 
 a heavy mortgage." 
 
 "Is she here?" burst from Lucian with sud- 
 den intensity; then, as though half-repentant, 
 " I wonder if you knew how to a stranger 
 how it all looked ? " 
 
 Mrs. Buckman clasped her hands a little 
 nervously. 
 
 "O, I can imagine. It is our right sore spot. 
 We are so powerless to do anything, you see." 
 
 "Do you mean that such things often hap- 
 pen ?" inquired the Virginian unsteadily.
 
 20 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 " We all don't know much only now and 
 then some one has to shelter her for a day or 
 two until the very worst blows over. Ethel- 
 bert Sugg ought to have warned you about 
 making any offer for Cupid, but it seems that 
 the doctor told him, last night, that Dulcie had 
 at last consented to the sale. We all thought that 
 he would wear her clear out on it. He has cer- 
 tainly worn out many ideas of hers. When one 
 is very tired resolutions are hard to hold to, 
 Mr. Beardsley." 
 
 "How is she ? Was she hurt ?" 
 
 " Her shoulder was sprained and badly bruised. 
 Then the shock. But, you know, women look 
 frail and are really enduring." 
 
 She spoke slowly. 
 
 Lucian Beardsley felt that his mind was as 
 that of an octopus, thrusting forth a hundred 
 tentacles of wonder to grasp at dreadful facts. 
 He arose, lit another cigar, and walked over to 
 the railing. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Buckman," he said softly, 
 "my mother and father died in the infancy of 
 my twin brother and myself. My grandmother 
 I barely remember, and I have no near female 
 relatives. I have not known much of women for 
 all my mingling with society, and never of such 
 a woman as you are. I burn, yes, really burn, 
 to ask questions of you, but I fear that you may
 
 CHAPTER TWO 21 
 
 think me curious and with an idle motive. Be- 
 lieve me, it is not so." 
 
 Mrs. Buckman had a delicate flush on her 
 cheeks as she said quite slowly: 
 
 "You were too much moved. You would have 
 struck him, maybe killed him. Why did you 
 feel that?" 
 
 "No ignoble rage," he replied quickly, "and 
 I only know from you what I really did. I passed 
 out of myself." 
 
 " A generous rage and good motive," she went 
 on, musingly, "but as dangerous to her as a 
 blighting wind. No breath has ever hurt Dul- 
 cie's good name. She is here now, but I have sent 
 for Dr. DeWitt to take her home at once." 
 
 "My God!" cried Lucian. His cigar fell away. 
 "To-night?" 
 
 "To-night," said the gentle, firm voice, "she 
 must be under her husband's roof. You are our 
 guest. O, my friend, I am sure that you will un- 
 derstand me when I saythatnotroubleshehashad 
 would be as one she has not. Now we all weep 
 with herwhilewe all respect her and prayforher." 
 
 "But she is surely safe with you," he gasped, 
 "with you, and this little respite only until 
 another day ? Madame, I cannot understand. I 
 will go away." 
 
 She sat up quite rigidly and folded her hands 
 firmly over her lilac gown.
 
 22 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "Mr. Beardsley, we are very careful of our 
 women's honour in Kentucky. Dulcie is to me 
 almost like my own child, yet I must send her 
 home any night she comes here. She knows it. 
 She will not expect to stay to bring trouble on 
 any of her father's old friends." 
 
 A merciless mood swept over the man. His 
 voice rang out like a trumpet peal. 
 
 "Wait! I may be mistaken somehow. Here is a 
 woman married to a man who is maddened by 
 excessive use of drugs, liquors, and what not. He 
 certainly abuses her. You all know it, you all 
 deplore it, you all grieve over it, but you let it go 
 on and you will not shelter her in your houses 
 at night for fear of what? Is it trouble with 
 the madman, or because of saving her reputa- 
 tion ?" 
 
 "Both," replied Mrs. Buckman, earnestly; 
 "you see, it is a forbidden thing to come between 
 man and wife. Even her own father refused to 
 meddle." 
 
 "And her church of which you spoke ?" 
 
 "The Protestant Episcopal Church does not 
 believe in such interferences. We all can't do 
 one thing for Dulcie, Mr. Beardsley. We all," 
 lowering her voice, "can't do anything but hope 
 that there will be a release. They say that drugs 
 like those kill in a little while, and we all have 
 been actually hoping for something to happen."
 
 CHAPTER TWO Z3 
 
 Somewhere Lucian Beardsley had read a 
 phrase which suddenly blazed out before his 
 thought. 
 
 "Held in the grasp of the Omnipotent!" 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is, Mrs. Buckman," he 
 continued after a silence. "That man is not go- 
 ing to die for a long time, unless by an accident. 
 He is like the Hindoo and Chinese priests, 
 skilful enough in the use of those accursed prep- 
 arations of opium and cocaine to become a 
 human mummy. Some of those men live over 
 a hundred years. And for her why, she must 
 be rescued. Let her friends help her to a divorce." 
 
 Mrs. Buckman arose and clutched his arm, 
 looking about fearfully. 
 
 " Hush ! " she whispered, " she might hear you. 
 That was the whisper of the devil." 
 
 She was trembling from head to foot. 
 
 "Madame, I did not mean to agitate you. 
 Forgive me. Divorces are common now. O, I 
 only make it worse. I will not mention it again." 
 
 "Do not," she breathed excitedly. "I feel 
 assured that you meant no harm. The devil 
 enters men's souls when they do not guess it. 
 He breathes forth evil in a single word, a phrase. 
 You know not what terrible thing you have said, 
 for you have been orphaned and without wo- 
 man's good influence. I will pray for you that 
 you may not ever mention that word again."
 
 24 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "Again pardon me," he said very gently. 
 "We will drop the subject after one or two 
 questions. How long after their marriage before 
 the doctor took up his habits ? Have they any 
 children?" 
 
 "The children are dead, mercifully," she shud- 
 dered; "as to the other " here she breathed 
 heavily again "O, it is a pitiful thing, but 
 it is now known that he had the habit before; 
 that his own father hurried on the marriage with 
 the hope that he would break off, and so it 
 has ever been. My poor Dulcie!" 
 
 A deep execration burst from Lucian Beard- 
 sley's lips. He was again at white heat. 
 
 "Fraud, fraud!" he was saying between his 
 teeth as he paced the porch up and down. 
 
 "Another sadness of it is that he has dissi- 
 pated her estate. He wears her out to do this or 
 that. She has put herself down to the farm super- 
 intendence in order to keep up a living he 
 has no more practice; she is a dear woman, but 
 it seems worse than useless. Colonel Buckman 
 says she is not suited to any hard tasks. Dulcie 
 needs to be upheld, not to uphold any burden. 
 But there you will now understand, and I 
 am sure that you will oblige me by withdrawing 
 when the doctor comes, as he soon will, to take 
 his wife home." 
 
 The little iciness in her tone did not escape him.
 
 CHAPTER TWO 25 
 
 "I think I should much enjoy a smoke in the 
 quiet of the garden," he said at once. "May I 
 get my hat and have a walk ?" 
 
 "The Colonel has a sick stable-boy on hand," 
 she made instant reply, "but, as soon as he 
 comes in, I will send him into the grounds to 
 find you. He carries a silver dog-whistle, and 
 here is mine for you." 
 
 She detached it from a little chain at her 
 belt. Lucian passed to his room. Whether he 
 took the wrong turn or not he never knew, but 
 he drew up suddenly before a half-open door. 
 At a low dressing-table sat a pallid woman. A 
 middle-aged negress was combing out long, lus- 
 trous waves of red-gold hair. A face showed in 
 the mirror. It was a terrified, woeful face, and 
 across the brow there was a dark bruise. The 
 next moment Lucian Beardsley hurried past 
 Mrs. Buckman on the portico and plunged, hat- 
 less, down the entrance avenue. It was not so 
 dark but he could guide himself to one side of 
 the grove after a short walk and find a rough 
 bench upon which he sat down in a turmoil of 
 astounded despair. 
 
 Furious, hot anger shook him. He could have 
 clutched the neighbourhood as one man and 
 shaken it for detested cowardice. A brave land 
 this, where a woman could be held in such per- 
 secution and durance vile, and where no one
 
 26 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 dared or cared to aid her! Vagrant thoughts 
 of the old fairy tales beset him. "O sweet, white 
 lady, hard in the grasp of a horrible ogre, a 
 fairy prince should seek thee out and slay the 
 iron hand that holds thee fast!" That was mad 
 folly in these practical days, but there must be 
 some release. God never intended any weak 
 creature to be bounden thrall to sin and vice, if 
 there was a God. There was not any parallel to 
 this atrocity in all Nature. The female animal 
 rights valiantly for every right. 
 
 If fear, deadly fear, ever sat upon a human 
 countenance it was upon that one that looked 
 into the mirror with eyes unseeing as he passed. 
 Her tyrant was coming after her. She knew it. 
 God in heaven, if there was a God, have mercy 
 upon her! 
 
 There was soon a sound of wheels. Some one 
 drove into the avenue and past him as he sat 
 in the shadow of a clump of lilac-bushes. No 
 need to ask who it was. Devoid of shame, sus- 
 tained by public feeling, the victim of his own 
 weakness and passions passed on to carry home 
 his helpless prey. 
 
 In order to see them as they repassed, the 
 stranger had but to seek a clump of cedars 
 nearer the gate. It was not long to wait. The 
 woman had been made ready. Nearer came the 
 clattering wheels, the horse dashed past. There
 
 CHAPTER TWO 27 
 
 was only a faint glimpse of a shrouded head, but 
 it changed the whole current of his thought. 
 
 There was so little of vice he had not viewed 
 in a study of dissipation. He had a faint idea of 
 scenes that could be enacted at Glen Farm, of 
 tortures that this woman could be made to 
 undergo. It sickened him. O, for the white 
 purity enthroned in those pitiful eyes! It would 
 make a strong man weak to remember it. 
 
 The meaning of marriage had never really 
 occupied Lucian Beardsley's thoughts. Strange 
 that it should rise within him now even as the 
 glorious moon rose over the park. Marriage ? 
 Well, he knew something of its semblances and 
 its substitutes. He had taken his pleasure as a 
 gentleman, with all discretion and fair play. 
 He would have as soon thought of suicide as a 
 scandal. His follies had been a succession of 
 emotional flights which he took care should 
 never sully innocence or wrong actual trust. One 
 female creature who had become his partner in 
 a co-operative housekeeping scheme in Brooklyn 
 had developed an unexpected honesty, fidelity 
 and discretion. Her qualities disturbed him to 
 the extent that he went to Cuba without the for- 
 mality of a farewell and wrote her from there 
 of his abandonment and a provision for her. 
 He was nearer loneliness for a month than ever 
 before, and was lonelier than ever when he re-
 
 z8 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 ceived news of her death in a hospital from a 
 fever. In this Kentucky moonlight the wraith 
 of that wan woman who had been the occupant 
 of the flat in Brooklyn came near to him, whisp- 
 ered to him as never in her life, bade him know 
 strange mysteries, entangled the feet of his errant 
 thoughts in the waves of her brown hair. She 
 had been humble and patient. He wondered, if 
 he had ever given her intense meekness one word 
 of real tenderness, what waters of intense feeling 
 would have gushed forth. He gave her credit 
 now for a host of qualities he had denied her in 
 life, and he absolved her past in the ocean of 
 the last entire devotion to himself. 
 
 The moonlight lay between two tree trunks, 
 a broad shaft of radiance over his feet. So had 
 a lovely woman been prone before him that 
 morning and he had not lifted her up. Now- 
 he clenched his fists at the very thought she 
 could be in worse plights and he dared not lift 
 her up. 
 
 A crashing footstep came nearer. It was the 
 Colonel's in hot haste. 
 
 "I've whistled for you half a dozen times, 
 Beardsley. You must have been asleep." 
 
 "Sit down," said Lucian, taking the cigar 
 he offered. "Sit down and drive away the 
 ghosts. The night is full of them."
 
 CHAPTER THREE 
 
 THOU HAST NO TONGUE TO TELL WHO MARTYRED THEE 
 
 MRS. BUCKMAN fears that she has 
 hurt your feelings," began the Ken- 
 tuckian. 
 
 "O," promptly returned Lucian Beardsley, 
 "I do not mind confessing that your tolerated 
 tragedy here has upset me completely." 
 
 "Strong language," replied the Colonel. 
 "Surely you have seen abused mothers and 
 children and wives in your cities ?" 
 
 "We hear of them in the proceedings of police 
 courts and the records of the whipping-posts," 
 said Lucian dryly, "but there is no toleration 
 by a community, sir." 
 
 "This is the most public thing that has ever 
 happened," began the Colonel, humbly, "and 
 he was particularly savage this morning. Other- 
 wise, we know so little about it that we can 
 
 only surmise more. She never soeaks of it." 
 
 29
 
 3 o THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "What use?" broke in Lucian. "She spares 
 herself the indignity of your disbelief or your 
 inaction. Pardon me, but I am hardly myself." 
 
 "We may not be active enough," said the 
 other man, cautiously, "but grant that if we de- 
 sire to act,wecan not do anything. Sheishiswife." 
 
 " License to spend her worldly goods, to hate, to 
 impoverish, to abuse, to hold while life lasts; and 
 whom the devil has joined together, let no man put 
 asunder. That's wedlock in this country, is it ?" 
 
 "Horrible!" exclaimed the old Kentuckian. 
 "Mr. Beardsley, you must not mock at marriage. 
 I grant it is all or nothing as one makes it, but 
 what goodness exists and endures in a man is 
 generally put there by a good woman. I feel," 
 said he, baring his brow to the moonlight, 
 "that I should always take off my own hat when 
 I speak my wife's name and that all the world 
 should do the same." 
 
 "Amen," said Lucian heartily, "but, ye gods, 
 what misfits we do find! This travesty on mar- 
 riage we have now seen. How came it ? Was that 
 woman ever in love with that man at his best ?" 
 
 The Colonel waited a moment and then re- 
 plied soberly: 
 
 "I don't think that she was. Hers has always 
 been a peculiar nature. She is like a child who 
 goes on a pitiful quest and comes back without 
 anything. We were anxious to see her well
 
 CHAPTER THREE 31 
 
 married, her father most of all. Delby DeWitt 
 came home from a Pennsylvania college and 
 set up a practice. He was different from others 
 about here, and Dulcie was quite carried away 
 with him. It was not a year after the marriage 
 before strange tales went about. Questioned, 
 Dulcie refused to say a word. Her own father 
 admired this silent martyrdom, and he died be- 
 seeching her to be steadfast in it. I believe it 
 will kill her finally, as it has killed her children." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me that she never com- 
 plains?" cried Lucian, "not to your wife, not 
 to any one else who might give her a little con- 
 solation ? O no, no, that were against all Na- 
 ture!" 
 
 "It is true," replied the Colonel, much moved. 
 "She is strangely enduring, loyally strong. We 
 were surprised to hear her say what she said 
 this morning. It was wrung from her." 
 
 "How old is she ?" asked Lucian. 
 
 "About twenty-seven. She looks aged by her 
 trouble. My wife says she has gray hairs already. 
 My wife hopes that he may die, but I've read 
 that opium-eaters rarely die early, though, of 
 course, there's cocaine too." 
 
 "There is little hope for he"r," observed Lu- 
 cian, after a long pause. "I offended Mrs. Buck- 
 man by alluding to a divorce." 
 
 "You could not offend her half as much in
 
 3 i THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 any other way,'* replied the older man. "She 
 will not hear divorce mentioned. We have 
 enough of it, God knows, in our midst, and yet 
 I confess I must think of it with toleration in such 
 a case as Dulcie's. I heard our late rector say 
 that she would be right in securing it. DeWitt is 
 strangely immoral, but she does not know that. 
 I don't know who would tell her, to add to her 
 troubles." 
 
 "Since you have introduced that subject," 
 said Lucian coolly, "I would like to add a few 
 bits of information out of my knowledge of 
 cocaine fiends in the East, Colonel." 
 
 When he stopped his hearer was pale with 
 horror and dismay. 
 
 " If I thought our little Dulcie - " he began, 
 then he boiled over with good honest rage and 
 swore like a trooper. 
 
 "I'm glad I have aroused you from your 
 apathy," observed Lucian. "I came down here 
 to buy a horse and I have found a righteous 
 cause ready to my hand. What was Mrs. De- 
 Witt's maiden name, Colonel?" 
 
 "Childress Dulcinea Childress," said the 
 Colonel. 
 
 "Childress!" repeated Lucian with a start. 
 " Childress ? Colonel, my grandfather's Ken- 
 * tucky mother was a Willa Childress." 
 
 " By the Lord Harry! " said the Colonel slowly.
 
 CHAPTER THREE 33 
 
 Lucian's voice was hoarse. He threw out all 
 his repressed feeling in jerky sentences. 
 
 "Good God! That woman may be my kins- 
 woman though far removed. If you think I am 
 going to leave Kentucky with the thought of any 
 woman related to me in the clutches of a 
 demon and a drug fiend, you do not know me 
 or my brother Fordyce. Forgive me, Colonel. 
 You are my host, but this thing has seethed me 
 all day. I swear to you that this woman, if she is 
 a cousin many times removed, shall have in me 
 a protector and a counsellor. I care nothing for 
 your petty county society, nothing for your gos- 
 sip, your scandal. I have the money, and I can 
 buy the influence. Shut up your doors to this 
 poor, miserable creature if you will, and, as you 
 do it, I will free her from that man, and I will 
 put any happiness I can into her miserable, 
 wasted life." 
 
 He had risen, and he stood up in the moonlight 
 like a triumphant god. The old Colonel sprang 
 up and seized his hand. His eyes were full of hon- 
 est tears. 
 
 "Beardsley, Beardsley, don't you know you 
 make me feel that we are all a set of infernal 
 cowards and jackanapes ? Yes, you do!" 
 
 Lucian Beardsley slept long the next morning. 
 Stirred as never before, his complex emotions had
 
 34 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 exhausted him. He slept through the quiet night 
 hours, the rosy, pearly dawn, the sunrise, the 
 breakfast time. Mrs. Buckman would not allow 
 him to be disturbed. Not a servant tiptoed over 
 the porch that ran around the house, not a foot- 
 fall sounded in the hallways. She was glad of 
 time to reflect herself, and she thought it the best 
 wisdom that rest complete should knit up the 
 ravelled sleeve of the new care in the Virginian's 
 mind and calm his hot impulses. Had he been a 
 mere boy these would not have given her much 
 real concern, but Lucian Beardsley was a 
 matured man of the world, and she had every 
 reason to respect a man's fixed determinations. 
 
 Lucian had fallen asleep thinking of the Colo- 
 nel's sober words at the close of their conversa- 
 tion: 
 
 "You must not expect me to keep this matter 
 from my wife, Beardsley. It is many years since I 
 held back anything from her. I could not do it if 
 I tried, I believe. " 
 
 "I do not ask that," Lucian had replied, "but 
 will it make any difference in her attitude ? 
 Would she not concede me the honest right to de- 
 fend a kinswoman ?" 
 
 "A thousand times, yes," replied the Colonel. 
 " No one is more of a believer in ties of blood than 
 is Mrs. Buckman. If you are descended from the 
 same stock it will make all the difference in the
 
 CHAPTER THREE 35 
 
 world. I advise you to say nothing of a divorce to 
 my wife unless she attacks you on the subject. If 
 she does, you will understand how to act. My 
 wife has a high belief in most people, and it is a 
 personal sorrow to her to have any one fall below 
 her own pure standard." 
 
 "I like to hear you say those things," went on 
 Lucian. "They remind me of certain feelings of 
 reverence I once had, when a lad, before some of 
 the great pictures and the stained-glass saints in 
 Europe. I had almost frogotten the feeling, but it 
 is revived by your words. Good-night, my dear 
 sir.' 3 
 
 He woke when the sun was high in the heav- 
 ens. At first he lay half dozing in a drowsy lux- 
 ury. The room was like a green bower. All the 
 shutters were closed, but the wind through the 
 slats waved the long muslin curtain-pieces back- 
 ward and forward. They seemed the draperies of 
 fleeing nymphs in a woodland. Once in a while a 
 bird chirped in the rose vine outside or a bee 
 buzzed up against the shutters. When he grew 
 wider awake he remembered where he had been 
 yesterday and the events of the night. He felt 
 creeping over him a strange new sensation of a 
 realized epoch. He was not only all he had ever 
 been, but something more, some one who would 
 live nearer other men's lives and better under- 
 stand their great passions and their great pains.
 
 3 6 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 He touched the bell and the black man who 
 came to prepare his bath brought him a cup of 
 coffee which reminded Lucian of his old days in 
 France. He made his toilet slowly, trying to shape 
 a definite action and at once begin the work of 
 rescue and alleviation. He decided to go to Dulcie 
 at once, but it was a case of man proposing and 
 Mrs. Buckman disposing. She was evidently 
 watching for his appearance from the front door, 
 for she came into the wide hall as he came down 
 stairs, to bid him good-morning and ask him how 
 he had slept. It was very warm, and she wore a 
 white gown as simple as that of a child. There 
 was a quiet calmness in her eyes that belied the 
 Colonel's twinkle. He greeted Lucian from his 
 Shaker rocker at one side of the porch table. 
 At his side stood a tall glass of mint julep, and 
 all the ingredients for this fragrant beverage were 
 before him. 
 
 "You've come just in time," called out the 
 Colonel. "Sit down and Mrs. Buckman shall 
 make you the finest julep in Kentucky. You can 
 stand it after your coffee. Dinner will soon be 
 ready and, after that, you and I are going to take 
 a neat little drive of sixteen miles across the 
 country, sir." 
 
 Lucian took the chair at the railing and 
 watched the fragile little hands of the mistress 
 of the house go fluttering skilfully about over
 
 CHAPTER THREE 37 
 
 shaved ice and crushed mint, sugar, lemon and 
 the cut-glass decanters of old Kentucky whisky. 
 It amused him to remember with what horror 
 some of her own sex would regard these pretty 
 services, how she would be condemned for them 
 and blamed in some rigid circles of that outer 
 world of which she had so little knowledge. He 
 testified to the merits of the julep in warm terms 
 a few moments later. Here was a woman to 
 study. She believed in a personal devil, would 
 hear nothing of divorce, but she mixed a julep 
 that would coax a saint out of Paradise. 
 
 "We all are going over to look at Manifold's 
 fine colts this afternoon, " said the Colonel in his 
 most genial manner, "and as Peter Manifold 
 married Nancy Childress, a second cousin of 
 Mrs. DeWitt's, it is quite as well that we make 
 some inquiries there. Mrs. Buckman thinks that 
 Nancy had some old documents and letters 
 that will likely help you to prove your ances- 
 try." 
 
 Lucian flushed. 
 
 "I am sorry I am among such strangers that 
 my word requires proof," he said in his most 
 spirited manner. 
 
 "Tut, tut, tut, man!" cried the Colonel. "You 
 want the real proof yourself, don't you ? There 
 used to be several branches of the Childress 
 family about here and one or two people of the
 
 jg THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 name who were no relation whatever to any of 
 the old lot. As I say, Peter will surely let us see 
 those letters and old things that Nancy's father 
 left her. Peter would not let Dulcie have the pa- 
 pers after Nancy died. You see, Dulcie and Nan- 
 cy didn't agree. " 
 
 "This Nancy Childress is dead ?" 
 
 "Three years. Peter is married again. His last 
 wife has real good sense and was educated at Mil- 
 lersburg. I like Kitty May myself. " 
 
 "I had made another plan," began the 
 younger man. He saw a look pass between the 
 husband and wife, one as quick as lightning. 
 
 "I want you to go over there," continued the 
 Colonel easily, "because it will probably settle 
 the question as to whether you can claim any kin 
 to Mrs. DeWitt. We don't want you to go to see 
 her until we are sure you are right, Beardsley. " 
 
 Lucian flushed and then waited to recover 
 himself. 
 
 "There is some justice in that desire of yours. 
 I am willing to go with you, but, after that, I 
 must be allowed my own will, especially as I 
 shall soon leave your hospitable roof. I may have 
 to do some things that will not please our gentle 
 lady here, and so I cannot courteously remain for 
 even the time I had promised." 
 
 Mrs. Buckman folded her hands again and 
 there came a delicate flush on her cheek.
 
 CHAPTER THREE 39 
 
 "I know. If you come back from over the 
 river with the knowledge that Mrs. DeWitt is 
 your kinswoman, you intend to see her and to 
 make it all known to her," she said a little un- 
 steadily. 
 
 "I certainly intend so to do, my dear Mrs. 
 Buckman." 
 
 " In that case I want you to see her here, with 
 me. I believe in Dulcie. She has been wonder- 
 fully upheld in many ways. I believe indeed, 
 I do hope that she will resist you and all your 
 offers, Mr. Beardsley." 
 
 In all his life Lucian Beardsley had never met 
 such unqualified defiance as now blazed forth in 
 Susan Buckman's large eyes. They were like 
 cold, bluish steel. A fierce, unreasoning obsti- 
 nacy, shook him, but he bowed his head. 
 
 "You do me honour, Mrs. Buckman. I hardly 
 know what sort of a foeman I might make. You 
 may be right, but still I shall make the effort to 
 induce my kinswoman to cease this useless self- 
 sacrifice and suicidal martyrdom." 
 
 Mrs. Buckman began to gather up the glasses 
 with the cool reply: 
 
 " It may be, Mr. Beardsley, that you will dis- 
 cover no kinship. That would delight me greatly, 
 as then you would have no excuse to take up her 
 cause." 
 
 "None whatever," replied Lucian quietly,
 
 40 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 " unless it was a desire to save a fellow-mortal 
 a woman at that from so much pain and 
 misery." 
 
 The Colonel rose quickly, relieved at the 
 sound of the silvery bell in the hall. 
 
 "Dinner, dinner! I know our guest is hungry. 
 I wish DeWitt was ten feet deep in yonder grave- 
 yard, for my part, yes, I do!" 
 
 The meal was eaten with a careful avoidance 
 of dangerous topics. An hour later the Colonel 
 and his guest were hurrying across the country 
 behind two blooded mares. Lucian's spirits rose 
 with the rapid drive down green lanes, over good 
 and bad turnpikes, narrow dirt cross-cuts and 
 through the swift river at a ford that the mares 
 did not at all fancy. It was three o'clock in the 
 afternoon when they drove into Peter Manifold's 
 farm lane and stopped before a two-story wooden 
 house with broad galleries running completely 
 around both stories. Climbing roses embowered 
 the house and yellow honeysuckle mingled with 
 them and scented all the air. There seemed to be 
 half a hundred dogs about, and they all came for- 
 ward to bark very joyously at the strangers. 
 
 A coloured man, strangely sad of face, stood at 
 the head of the sweating mares. Their host ap- 
 peared at an opening in the vines. He was tall, 
 lank, sweet of voice and gentle in manner. He 
 
 * O 
 
 welcomed them as though they had been long
 
 CHAPTER THREE 41 
 
 expected, and Lucian Beardsley could not have 
 believed that here was a man who would hold 
 back from Dulcie DeWitt the meagre records of 
 her ancestry. 
 
 The guests were established in wooden rockers 
 on the lower gallery and supplied with palm-leaf 
 fans. 
 
 "We want to see your colts, Peter," began the 
 Colonel, after a social chat, "but first thing of 
 all, this gentleman here is of the opinion that 
 his great-grandmother was a Childress of your 
 wife Nancy's branch. He is out here from New 
 York, and is studying out his own pedigree on 
 the side while buying good horses. Can't you 
 all show him those old letters and small tricks 
 that Nancy had and set such store by ?" 
 
 "Just wait a minute, Colonel," broke in 
 Lucian. "If Mr. Manifold has anything of 
 importance to me, he can name his price for 
 it if he wants money." 
 
 Peter was plainly puzzled. 
 
 "Nancy never did want Dulcinea DeWitt to 
 have those things just because she wanted them 
 so much. You all don't want them for her, do 
 you, Colonel ? " 
 
 " I do not know her," promptly replied Lucian 
 to spare the Colonel; "this quest is all in my own 
 interests. My great-grandfather married a Willa 
 Childress, here in Kentucky, about 1800."
 
 42 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "Well, Pll just stir up Kitty May," said the 
 Kentuckian, retreating into the house. Kitty May 
 presently appeared. She had hurriedly put her- 
 self into one of her boarding-school gowns, and, 
 as Kitty May was now much stouter than in her 
 maiden days, it looked to the Virginian as if it 
 must fly wide apart if Kitty May breathed or 
 laughed naturally. But Kitty May was still very 
 young and very pretty, and she had with her a 
 diminutive infant in long clothes that so dis- 
 tracted her mind from the ordinary affairs of 
 life that it was some time before she could be 
 brought to understand just what was wanted 
 of her. 
 
 "Those old letters and tricks of Nancy's? 
 Law, Colonel, did you all see the baby's chin 
 dimple ? Those old things ? Let me see. I haven't 
 seen them since the baby came nor a long 
 time before. They must be in that closet in the 
 front room up-stairs. Go get them, Peter. I don't 
 like to leave Eustace a single minute. Now, Colo- 
 nel, I always said to Peter, 'You all are doing a 
 mighty small thing to keep those few tricks from 
 Dulcie DeWitt. Dulcie's got more trouble than 
 any one, and do let her have 'em.' Pd have sent 
 them to her, Colonel, only Peter swore that 
 Nancy would get up out of her grave after him, 
 and I didn't want to be badly scared while I was 
 nursing baby. It might hurt him, you know."
 
 CHAPTER THREE 43 
 
 All this was said with a most charming and in- 
 nocent air. Lucian felt his heart go out to her 
 when she spoke of the woman in whose fate he 
 had already become interested. It was plainly to 
 be seen that Kitty May was the queen of the 
 Manifold domain. Peter at once went up the 
 outside stairs at her bidding, while an obsequious 
 young coloured girl stood before her mistress's 
 chair and fanned her proudly. 
 
 It was a pretty sight, this fair young moth- 
 er and her tiny infant. She caressed its rose- 
 leaf hands and smiled above it like a happy 
 child. 
 
 "Peter's old nurse, Mammy Reba, is mighty 
 jealous because I must have baby all to myself, 
 Colonel. I say to her how could any one give up 
 such a sweet thing ? I don't know what I would 
 do with my time if I'd let her nurse it. I would 
 eat my heart right out looking on. " 
 
 Peter descended the stairs empty-handed. 
 
 "Now where are those things?" demanded 
 his small spouse. 
 
 "There's no sign of them in that old cup- 
 board," retorted Peter, aggrieved. "I nevah did 
 see such mess of traps, anyhow. " 
 
 Kitty May's eyes flashed fire. 
 
 "Peter, I believe you are afraid that Nancy 
 will rise on you. I'm not afraid of ghosts. I'll get 
 that box and you all had just better send it
 
 44 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 over to Dulcie De Witt by the Colonel. We cer- 
 tainly have got old plunder enough around 
 without that. " 
 
 She handed the baby to the young girl, caught 
 up her blue silk gown and ran lightly up the 
 stairs. In a short time she ran down, breathless, 
 but with an old black box tied up with cord and 
 shoestrings. 
 
 She stood before Lucian, laughing gaily. 
 
 " I guess you all are the only one left who has 
 any right to open this box," she exclaimed. "I'll 
 say you all shall open it, anyhow." 
 
 The two cut and untied strings for a few mo- 
 ments, then Lucian lifted the lid with a feeling of 
 awe and wonder. 
 
 A packet of yellow, time-stained letters lay 
 there, an old leather wallet, a tiny French Testa- 
 ment with the covers eaten away by insects, a cu- 
 rious medal from some religious order, battered 
 and bitten, its letters illegible save part of a 
 phrase, "le bon Dieu. " 
 
 "A tin penny!" cried Kitty May. "Not a thing 
 worth while!" 
 
 Lucian looked into the wallet. There were sev- 
 eral strands of hair braided together black, 
 brown, golden, and all tied with worn bits of rib- 
 bon. There was a folded paper, yellow and brown 
 spotted and also worn at the edges. It was a sort 
 of family record of the American branch of the
 
 CHAPTER THREE 45 
 
 Childress family and kept up in a half-dozen 
 handwritings. 
 
 Lucian's heart rose in his mouth. Crudely put 
 together, here was a priceless treasure. Here was 
 the truth of time : 
 
 Bogardus et Huon Childress out of France, 1749. Bo- 
 gardus dwelt alone in ye boundless wilderness six years. 
 Huon dwelt in South Carolina more than six years. An 
 Indian had dwelt with Bogardus raised in ye deep wilder- 
 ness, baptized to be his own son and heir, he being a man 
 unwed. Huon followed his brother in six years with Blanch- 
 flor his wife, six children, to-wit, Blanch, Clotaire, Fidele, 
 Remy, Anselm, Aime'e. Of these all did die save Blanchflor 
 and Remy. 
 
 Here the writing changed to one feminine: 
 
 Remy wed with Mary Wren after the War of the Colo- 
 nies with England sent men and women over the moun- 
 tains. Before this time Bogardus Childress, the Indian son 
 of Bogardus, wed with Blanchflor, the daughter of Huon. 
 Of Bogardus Childress and Blanchflor Childress came 
 Stephan and Willa Childress. Of Remy one son, to-wit, 
 Adelbert. 
 
 Then another hand had written plainly: 
 
 Stephan Childress wed one Gertrude de Heath ; Willa 
 Childress, one Fordyce Beardsley, of Virginia. She died in 
 childbirth, leaving a male child, Fordyce, whose record is 
 lost. 
 
 Of Remy Childress's heirs, they are scattered widely 
 and we know nothing. 
 
 Of Stephan Childress's heirs, there are his son Gilbert, of
 
 46 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 whose heirs there are: Salome, Hertzel and Philip Carleton 
 Childress and Guy Childress. The Hertzel record has not 
 been established, but Philip Carleton Childress had many 
 children, to-wit : Charles Louis, Stephan, Gilbert and Dul- 
 cinea DeWitt. None there are living but the daughter. 
 God took the sons when children. Guy Childress had heirs, 
 one Leroy who died in California, and Nancy Manifold. 
 
 This record, though in different handwritings, 
 was clear and plain. Lucian handed it over to 
 Colonel Buckman and turned to Peter, trembling 
 in spite of his efforts to be calm. 
 
 "That record is worth thousands of dollars to 
 me. Will you sell it?" 
 
 Peter took his pipe from his mouth and stared 
 at the stranger without replying. Kitty May had 
 turned again to the baby who was still in the arms 
 of the nurse, but making purposeless and ineffec- 
 tual plunges at his mother, while ecstatic smiles 
 hovered about his tiny mouth. Kitty was in rap- 
 tures. She forgot everything. 
 
 "Those papers do look all right," pronounced 
 the Colonel, after a scrutiny. "I guess you've 
 found about what you wanted. Funny thing how 
 that old wallet has held together. I wonder 
 whose hair that is ?" 
 
 "We may be able to determine later," ob- 
 served Lucian, still much moved. "Colonel, this 
 means a great deal to me. My great-grandfather 
 was this very Fordyce Beardsley, you under-
 
 CHAPTER THREE 47 
 
 stand. It seems like a dream. His son was my own 
 grandfather who visited Kentucky when about 
 my age. He learned some of the family history 
 then, but if he had only known of this record, it 
 would have been a sacred duty to him to have 
 found it." 
 
 "Clear as water," pronounced the Colonel. 
 I knew Philip Childress, Dulcie's father. He 
 was a great deal like an Indian himself in some 
 ways: He could endure more and keep stiller 
 than any man I ever saw. Why," continued the 
 Colonel, his eyes flashing, "he was wounded at 
 Chickamauga, and, by the Lord, Beardsley, he 
 sat on his mare until the blood followed his path. 
 We all had to pull him ofF, sir, to make him go 
 to the rear. That's Indian. Dulcie's like him. 
 That's where she gets her endurance. Blood will 
 tell." 
 
 A wave of feeling swept over the younger man. 
 He gazed dumbly at the black box and the letters. 
 At that moment Peter Manifold recovered from 
 his amazement enough to drawl out in his sing- 
 ularly sweet voice: 
 
 "You ofFah a thousand dollahs for the lettahs, 
 sir?" 
 
 "I do," replied Lucian promptly. 
 
 There was then a strange sound that made 
 them all turn. Kitty May had made a sudden 
 spring at the group. Her blue gown could not
 
 48 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 stand the strain and burst several hooks and 
 eyes. Kitty May ran back and snatched up the 
 babe to shield her, pressing its yellow, downy 
 head against her panting bosom. 
 
 "Sell those things, Peter?" she said, in a 
 withering voice. "Sell them ? Well, I think not." 
 
 Colonel Buckman drew his breath with a 
 queer, inaudible chuckle. Peter looked fright- 
 ened. 
 
 "Now, Colonel," began the pretty, flushed 
 creature, "you all know we Mays are square 
 folks. We forgot to keep our pedigrees, and I 
 don't suppose your wife will ever forget my larks 
 and pranks at the church picnics. Law, don't 
 you get red, Colonel! I was only enjoying myself 
 and I never could keep the boys away. But we 
 Mays are square. Eustace's pa is never going to 
 sell those things to any New Yorker, if he's lined 
 with money. I haven't a thing against you," she 
 added, turning to the stranger. "You may be a 
 Childress or anybody else, but no one is going 
 to carry those little tricks out of this house ex- 
 cept to Dulcie DeWitt with my consent. " 
 
 "They are not yours," cried Peter, wrathfully. 
 "They were Nance's! They aren't yours at all. " 
 
 "Nance is dead or I wouldn't be here," re- 
 torted Kitty May. "She is dead and, if she is in 
 Heaven, she is probably wishing she had made it 
 up with Dulcie. Angels haven't got any mean
 
 CHAPTER THREE 49 
 
 feelings. As for her rising up, which I'm bound 
 to say you are mortal afraid she'll do, Peter, she 
 surely will rise if you pass those things on to a 
 pure stranger. I just won't have that thing told on 
 you, Peter. We'll drop the whole matter like it 
 was lead, and the Colonel '11 pack that stuff over 
 to Dulcie with your compliments as a gentle- 
 man." 
 
 "I won't do it!" declared Peter, very red in 
 the face. "Women are a deuce of a business, in- 
 terfering like this. Befoah a stranger, too. What 
 will he think of Kentucky women aftah this, 
 Kitty May?" 
 
 Kitty May laughed in his face. 
 
 " He'll think the men would be a mighty poor 
 lot without them, won't he ? If you won't send 
 the stuff, I will. Just carry it along, Colonel 
 Buckman. I can trust you all. Tell Dulcie De- 
 Witt, Mr. Peter Manifold sends it, and he 
 hopes the hard feeling is over for all time. And 
 just tell her, too, that Mrs. Manifold would like 
 to have her come over and see the baby real 
 soon. " 
 
 The fat and red-faced Colonel looked at Peter. 
 He gave in very reluctantly and like an obstinate 
 child. 
 
 "I don't suppose I'd have any peace, gentle- 
 men, if I kept them," he said, "but Nance was 
 against it to the day of her death."
 
 S o THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "She isn't bossing things on the place now," 
 observed Kitty May, with a beaming smile," and 
 you'll feel real good over this to-morrow, dear. 
 Mammy Reba says the best way to lay ' harnts' 
 is to plumb defy 'em and they'll quit you. I never 
 do see any myself. " 
 
 " Let us go look at the colts, Colonel, " broke 
 in Lucian. "I hope to be able, some way, to put 
 my name to a check for Mr. Manifold. " 
 
 The Colonel almost tumbled down the steps 
 he was so pleased. 
 
 " I hope you all will be able to buy something 
 in Kentucky," he shouted with laughter, "but 
 it seems that you've got the women against you. 
 Come on, dear fellow, and let us hunt a colt with 
 a pedigree longer than your own." 
 
 Peter had lingered a moment, and Lucian, 
 looking backward, saw Kitty May give him a 
 warm kiss ere she pushed him away from her. 
 
 "Your women, collectively, are most puzzling, 
 Colonel, " he observed ; " it will be a relief to take 
 my mind from them and put it on the colts if 
 I can." 
 
 "I'll back them up against the whole world!" 
 cried the Colonel, "both the Kentucky women 
 and the Kentucky colts!"
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 SHE IS MY GOODS, MY CHATTELS 
 
 AN hour later a slim negro lad shyly ap- 
 proached Mr. Peter Manifold sitting up- 
 on a feed box in an open stable-shed and 
 announced supper in a decidedly frightened voice. 
 Mr. Manifold had recovered his usual cheer- 
 fulness. He had sold Mr. Lucian Beardsley a 
 fine black saddle horse at a generous figure. The 
 three men were now watching the grooming of 
 the horse for his departure. Colonel Buckman 
 declared that they could easily take him with 
 them, ride and lead. Lucian Beardsley was 
 calmed down, feeling that he had made full rec- 
 ompense to Mr. Manifold in the price of the 
 horse. He walked about among the stable-men, 
 scattering coin and much enjoying their admira- 
 tion and homage. These country negroes inter- 
 ested him far more than any coloured people he 
 had seen in cities. In their dark faces there was a 
 
 51
 
 5 i THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 strange and pathetic appeal he could not over- 
 look. So he sought to answer it by bestowing in- 
 discriminate charity, and enjoyed the "Lawd do 
 bress ye, massa!" which seemed fervent and 
 spontaneous. 
 
 It was evident that Kitty May had not been 
 idle while they were absent. A table set in the 
 large and bare dining-room fairly groaned with 
 an intemperate hospitality. There were great 
 platters of fried chicken, a sweet hot bread 
 that melted in the mouth, potato puffs, jellies, 
 pickles, salads, preserves, cakes, strawberries of 
 a size that made Lucian stare, and home-made 
 ice-cream. For drinks they had coffee, iced tea 
 and iced claret. Mr. Peter Manifold explained to 
 Colonel Buckman that Kitty May had demanded 
 an ice-house the year before, and had herself su- 
 perintended the cutting from the creek and the 
 filling of the house during the past winter. 
 
 "Law! It gave the niggers a job of work," 
 cried Kitty May from the head of the table, " and 
 they have to work hard. I don't want to see them 
 around starving and doing nothing. Give them 
 work, I say. Then it's most comforting to us to 
 have the ice." 
 
 Sensible, sweet little mind. It went straight to 
 the root of all evils and tried to remedy them. 
 This was another type of Kentucky woman, a 
 wholesome one that needed little culture to grasp
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 53 
 
 the issues of the day and to see the work that lay 
 to hand. Lucian Beardsley saw clearly what 
 manner of man Eustace might become with a 
 heritage of such common-sense, courage, and 
 high honour. 
 
 He wondered if Dulcie was such a woman. 
 Surely, he was setting forth to defend a will-o'-the 
 wisp. She was not as pretty as Kitty May, prob- 
 ably never had been, but she had a certain 
 beauty intangible, a charm, a fascination, that 
 little Mrs. Manifold did not have and could not 
 appreciate. He remembered a scene in a French 
 theatre when a regally beautiful woman had been 
 scorned by listless applause and hired encores, 
 and that, after her, a shy, unformed girl slipped 
 from the wings and stood suddenly before them 
 - and that something, something in her level 
 outlook, her personality, had gone straight to the 
 hearts of men so that the applause began and rose 
 and continued ere she spoke or moved. Her's 
 was men's beauty, the "beauty of the devil," and 
 poor Dulcie DeWitt also had it, even though now 
 she was like a flower with a worm at its heart. 
 
 It was well towards dusk ere they were ready for 
 their return trip. The dancing mares were scat- 
 tering the gravel on the roadway, the sad-faced 
 negro was holding the black horse. Lucian 
 thought he would ride a part of the way at least, 
 and he vaulted into the saddle after the most
 
 54 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 courteous of farewells to Kitty May. The Colonel, 
 got into the buggy, but no word was spoken of the 
 black box. They were out of sight of the house 
 before he dared to question the Colonel. 
 
 "Did she give you the letters, Colonel ?" 
 
 The Colonel took his cigar from his lips and 
 laughed. 
 
 "O yes, my dear, good fellow! I can kick the 
 box with my heel now. Trust Mistress Kitty May. 
 She is always a woman of her word. " 
 
 "She is delicious!" acquiesced Lucian. "I 
 really feel thankful that she is Mrs. Manifold. I 
 do not think I could hold out against Kitty May 
 should she lay siege to me. " 
 
 "Siege to you!" roared the Colonel. "From 
 what heathen lands do you come ? She was simply 
 the talk of the county with all the men after her. 
 I don't see how Manifold got her. I don't believe 
 he knows himself. She is the best wife in the 
 world to him. He's got a latent lung complaint 
 and will probably leave her a young widow. " 
 
 "Ye gods!" cried Lucian. "And then, and 
 then?" 
 
 The Colonel roared with merriment again. 
 
 " Beardsley, we have got a great many wonder- 
 ful things in our state besides our politics and 
 our Mammoth Cave. I believe I agree with 
 statesmen and common people when I say 
 that the most wonderful is the Kentucky
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 55 
 
 widow. Our women are gay young girls, but not 
 reckless. Our wives are unsurpassed and sel- 
 dom fickle. Our widows are beyond conception, 
 sir, beyond conception and description!" 
 
 "I am deeply interested," exclaimed Lucian, 
 his eyes dancing. 
 
 "Our widows, Mr. Beardsley, have the charm 
 of the reticent maid, with the knowledge of the 
 loving wife. They have read the one man well, 
 and have the key to all others. They consider 
 homage their right, they are gay, with a suspicion 
 of daring and and, sir, they can take care 
 of themselves on all occasions. " 
 
 "This is the woman's kingdom," quoth the 
 Virginian. "I have given women more thought 
 in one day since I came into Kentucky than in 
 my whole life before, sir. " 
 
 With such converse they took their way home- 
 ward. They passed swiftly through the magical 
 twilight. Lucian's mount was a happiness to him. 
 Never before had he so enjoyed a ride. The Colo- 
 nel gave him sage advice about his riding and 
 the care of a good horse. They crossed at the ford 
 while it was yet light enough to see the way, 
 which the Colonel knew by the location of trees 
 upon the bank. After an hour or two Lucian 
 went into the buggy with the Colonel and led his 
 purchase by a long strap. This gave them a bet- 
 ter opportunity to talk.
 
 56 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "You have certainly established your kinship 
 to Dulcie," said the Colonel, "and do you still 
 think you will see her and endeavour to influence 
 her to leave DeWitt ? Do not answer if you do not 
 wish to. I want you to remember that you will 
 take a great responsibility if you do. " 
 
 "I think I shirk a greater one if I do not. See 
 here, Colonel, I do not want to dispute with you 
 on any subject, least of all on this one. I want to 
 try to do this thing fairly and honestly. You must 
 allow me to meet my cousin, we will say, at your 
 house, and very soon, perhaps to-morrow. Mrs. 
 Buckman can be present, and she can plead with 
 her. I will not even state my case. I will simply 
 ask her if I can help her to be any happier. That's 
 fair enough, isn't it ?" 
 
 The Colonel sighed. 
 
 "My wife will be in a great deal of trouble 
 about it. She is a person of the strongest con- 
 victions. She keeps all our rectors to the rigid 
 path of duty, yet she is their warmest supporter, 
 financially as well as morally. The one we have 
 now is too meek and she resents that." 
 
 "A former rector is the one who pitied my 
 cousin so much, was he not ?" asked Lucian. 
 
 "Yes. He was much interested and too lib- 
 eral in his ideas. However, there was other trou- 
 ble, and after he made up his mind to go 
 to a Virginia parish, he spoke too much about
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 57 
 
 it and deeply offended the conservative ele- 
 ment. " 
 
 "Mrs. Buckman is, without doubt, a great 
 power in the congregation," observed Lucian. 
 He was sounding the depths now. 
 
 "Yes, indeed. They cannot run on without 
 her. Some one has to be the motive power in the 
 parish. They tell a good story on one of our rec- 
 tors, an English importation. He was an ass, 
 Beardsley. None of us were good enough for him. 
 When you see our church you will notice our fine 
 pulpit. It was carved by an artist in the East, and 
 the ladies bought it, and are very proud of it. 
 Now, this Rev. Buthric Symes was a very small 
 man, and his nose barely reached over the pulpit. 
 While they were trimming the church for Christ- 
 mas one year, this man came into the chancel. A 
 wreath of holly had been placed about the pulpit 
 top. 
 
 'I won't be able to see over that at all,' he 
 said to my wife; 'that pulpit is too high anyhow. 
 It ought to be cut down or the church buy a new 
 one.' 
 
 "Mrs. Buckman was making a wreath near 
 him, and she spoke right up: 
 
 "Do you think so ? I think it would be much 
 easier to get a new rector.' " 
 
 Lucian laughed at the story, but with a pang. 
 This was the woman who would bid his newly-
 
 58 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 found cousin defy his kind intentions. Again 
 there swept over him the wave of defiance. 
 
 "She will say that is the * devil's thought,' ' 
 he murmured." "Well, I will not let the thing 
 alone. My course can be as stubborn as her own. 
 
 " I will ask to meet Mrs. DeWitt in her pres- 
 ence," he said aloud, "and after that I will go 
 forward alone." 
 
 "You do not mean to go away from here, 
 then?" 
 
 "Never until this question is settled. I shall 
 find a lodging and arrange myself for a stay. 
 Rome was not built in a day. I can stay." 
 
 The moon rose while they were still an hour's 
 ride from their destination. The Colonel hesitated 
 at a crossroads. 
 
 "Since the moon is so well up we can cut right 
 through here. This brings us up back of the De- 
 Witt house, and if any one is up, I can leave the 
 box." 
 
 They came out, at length, into a long lane 
 which, passing through dense woods, turned 
 suddenly into a way between thick orchards and 
 wide fields. 
 
 "This is Glen Farm," said the Colonel ;" yon- 
 der is the DeWitt house. " 
 
 A white cottage sat upon a knoll. In the moon- 
 light its gallery, overhanging a creek bed, was 
 plainly visible. They were driving rapidly to-
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 59 
 
 wards it when the mares sniffed uneasily and 
 shied once or twice. Lucian's saddle-horse shared 
 the same reluctance to push forward, and balked. 
 
 "Funny that their dogs do not give cry," said 
 the Colonel uneasily; "they've got enough of 
 them about." 
 
 Lucian pointed suddenly with his whip at 
 half a dozen huddled hounds, skulking in the 
 grass at the side of the road and fence. 
 
 " They're afraid," he said, " and so are the 
 horses. Something is wrong, Colonel Buck- 
 man." 
 
 " Afraid of what, in the name of God ? " cried 
 the Colonel angrily ; then he stopped. A long 
 and terrible shriek came from somewhere. The 
 mares shied and balked again. 
 
 "Is this the place of hell ?" cried the Colonel. 
 "Beardsley, my heart actually fails me. What 
 is all this?" 
 
 "Animals feel more than men," replied Lu- 
 cian hoarsely; "there is something wrong. I 
 am going to find out what it is." 
 
 The Colonel's teeth chattered ominously. 
 
 "I'll go with you, of course. I wanted to 
 reach this negro cabin. Some one will be there, 
 I think." 
 
 The hut was dark and empty. There had 
 been no fire all day. 
 
 "The negroes are away," said the Colonel,
 
 60 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 returning from his search, "there's probably no 
 one up at the house but Dulcie and DeWitt." 
 
 "No servants?" 
 
 "The servants live in those cabins. The 
 farm-hands are down on the creek further. The 
 negroes are horribly afraid of DeWitt, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 "Sensible negroes." 
 
 Again and from the house came that long, 
 low cry. 
 
 "Fasten your horses," said Lucian between his 
 set teeth, " I am going right up there. Have you 
 a pistol, Colonel ?" 
 
 "Two of them." He produced a holster 
 from under the seat. The man's coolness was 
 returning. 
 
 "So have I. Mine is an admirable weapon. 
 Now, Colonel, we will separate. I don't want 
 you to run any risks. I want to see what that 
 man is about. Don't you shoot him unless you 
 are attacked, Colonel. I will attend to that." 
 
 The Colonel was making fast the horses, but 
 he growled out, stumbling after him : 
 
 " Do you think I am an infernal coward, you 
 Virginian!" 
 
 Lucian had vaulted over the low hedge. 
 
 " I don't only there is Mrs. Buckman to 
 consider. I'm off." 
 
 He ran lightly to a small grove of young
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 61 
 
 trees and was lost to sight. The Colonel knew 
 the place better, and making a circuit, went 
 stealthily toward the house under cover of a 
 grape-vine trellis. He had almost reached it, 
 when he heard stealthy footsteps and a man's 
 voice singing or humming. He crouched low 
 down and looked out between the leaves. A 
 sight met his eyes that fairly froze his soul with 
 terror. Into the open space of the lawn passed 
 Dr. DeWitt. He was bareheaded. On his un- 
 dershirt and linen trousers were great splotches 
 and drops of something that looked like blood. 
 His shoes had been removed. His right hand 
 held a narrow, thin knife such as surgeons use, 
 and the left waved a new hatchet. These 
 weapons he seemed to delight to raise up in the 
 moonlight, while he hummed or sang. His prog- 
 ress was a strange, rhythmical dance not un- 
 like the war ceremonies of the Indians. Hum- 
 ming always, he went to and fro over the lawn 
 until the Colonel had recovered from his first 
 amazed horror. 
 
 "Crazy as a loon," thought the Colonel, "and 
 it looks as though he has killed Dulcie. God 
 help us!" 
 
 The long, piteous cry came again, this time 
 so near that the old Kentuckian could locate it. 
 He drew a long breath of relief. 
 
 "That is the bitch, Helvetia," he decided,
 
 6z THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "I'd know her sorrow-cry in a pack of a thou- 
 sand. I'll find her, for it may be she's stuck to 
 Dulcie as only a dog does." 
 
 He brushed his hands over his eyes. It was 
 a tribute to the memory of several dead dogs of 
 his own youth and manhood. He broke down 
 a bar of the trellis and forced his way through 
 the vines. He could thus reach the house without 
 being seen by the doctor, who was still teetering, 
 mowing, and bowing about in his maudlin orgy 
 on the lawn. 
 
 He was quite near the house when a terrible 
 roaring bay, appealing, sonorous and angry, 
 broke from the dog in the house. 
 
 "It is Helvetia," he muttered, "and there is 
 danger to Dulcie, or the creature never would 
 snarl like that." 
 
 As fast as his feet could carry him, he hurried 
 to the house. The front door was wide open. 
 Directed by the bay of the dog, he passed up the 
 stairs, his pistol in his hand. 
 
 At the head, in the hallway, he saw Lucian 
 Beardsley standing still. The younger man at 
 once motioned him to be silent and to advance. 
 The hound stood in the hallway, guarding a 
 door. It would have been death to have gone a 
 step farther. 
 
 "I don't like to shoot her," whispered Lucian, 
 "but do look at that, Colonel. We must get in."
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 63 
 
 The door before which the dog stood had 
 been broken open and hung across the opening 
 on one hinge. Beyond was ominous silence. 
 
 "She is in there, dead or alive," whispered 
 the Colonel, "and Helvetia has broken her chain 
 since that thing was done." 
 
 The dog ceased her angry baying and was snif- 
 fing about the Colonel, whom she recognized. 
 
 "I wonder if she does know me," whispered 
 the Colonel. "Beardsley, see if that madman 
 is out on the lawn. You are taller. Yes ? We 
 must risk something. Let me call to the dog. I've 
 been Master of Hounds so many times that she 
 must know me. Here Veesh, you good dog, 
 don't you know me ? Down, we'll not hurt you." 
 
 The creature crawled on her belly toward 
 him. 
 
 "Afraid of my whip, are you ? Now Beards- 
 ley, I'll keep guard, and you look into that 
 room." 
 
 "Colonel!" 
 
 "You must. I've known her always. I 
 can't " his voice broke - "I can't, for I must 
 keep my head." 
 
 The younger man stepped forward. He for- 
 got caution and spoke aloud. 
 
 "She may be alive." 
 
 "God grant it." 
 
 "Must I? Must I?"
 
 64 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "You must. I'm trying to get up my courage, 
 but that O, no, I can't!" 
 
 Lucian Beardsley thrust his body through 
 the aperture. There were two windows in the 
 room that looked out to the woods. The third, 
 to the south, let in a glorious flood of moonlight 
 that fell across the bed. On it was a figure, still 
 lying as asleep. With one bound Lucian reached 
 it, with one wild oath he covered its marble 
 nudity away from his own eyes with the drapery 
 of the disordered couch. Then, and only then, 
 he felt the pulse, he laid his ear to the heart, he 
 listened to the breathing. Shaking as with an 
 ague, he picked up a handkerchief that lay on 
 the floor, and then a bottle that his foot kicked. 
 He staggered back to the door and said hoarsely, 
 brokenly: 
 
 "She is not dead, Colonel. She is stupid from 
 chloroform, maybe from morphine also. Come 
 in here and see this poor victim, sir." 
 
 The Colonel stumbled into the room. He raised 
 the limp hand. 
 
 "O, Dulcie, Dulcie!" he cried. "This to be! 
 Philip's poor little maid! O, my God!" 
 
 Lucian caught his arm. A sound was plainly 
 heard on the stairs. 
 
 " He is coming up," said the Colonel. 
 
 Lucian opened a closet. . 
 
 "Let us stand here."
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 65 
 
 They entered the closet just in time. Soft 
 footsteps came on unsteadily. The hound gave 
 its low cry, then dashed into the room, crouch- 
 ing under the bed. A maniacal laugh was heard, 
 then the dark body of the man appeared at the 
 opening. He came through. To the horror of 
 both men he came through on all fours. In this 
 awful fashion he ran about the room with 
 strange, wagging motions of the head. It was a 
 most sickening sight and one never to be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 As yet the drug-mad creature had taken no 
 notice of the still figure on the bed. Suddenly 
 he stood erect and went toward her. The same 
 impulse struck the old and the young man at the 
 same time. Mowing terribly, the ugly blood 
 splotches showing plainly, this horrible human 
 being moved towards Dulcie. He stretched forth 
 his hand to touch the still form. There were 
 two flashes, two reports, and then a scream. 
 The doctor's arm fell, he went over backward. 
 Colonel Buckman strode to Dulcie. He gathered 
 the bed clothes about her. 
 
 "Let that devil lie," he said grimly; "you 
 come on. I'll send some niggers to him and for 
 a doctor. One or both of us winged him I 
 wouldn't care if I'd killed him, not I! I'm going 
 to take the poor girl home, Mrs. Buckman or no 
 Mrs. Buckman! Is there any way of reviving
 
 66 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 her, Beardsley ? I am afraid she will die. Help 
 me carry her down stairs." 
 
 They sat down on the porch, with the moon- 
 light shining full upon them. Lucian went into 
 the house and found water. With it they bathed 
 Dulcie's face and hands, and Lucian fanned her. 
 Presently she moved, but first because of poor 
 Helvetia's licking her hand affectionately. From 
 the upper floor came loud cries and groans and 
 curses. Every moment they expected Dr. De- 
 Witt to come stumbling down. 
 
 "We will take her away as she is," cried the 
 Colonel, "she will come around if she is drug- 
 ged. He may have firearms and make a dash at 
 us any moment." 
 
 "Get the horse then," he added after trying 
 to lift her; "the life is out of me." 
 
 When the Eastern man dashed away, Dulcie 
 lifted her head and laid her arms on the Colonel's 
 neck, with a terrible sob. He wrapped the bed- 
 clothing about her, with a fierce anger in him. 
 
 Lucian led up the black horse, and springing 
 upon him, took the woman from the stagger- 
 ing Colonel. Then he hurried down the knoll 
 toward the buggy, conscious of curses and shouts 
 from an upper window. His blood ran riot, hot 
 as never before, and he vowed fealty to this 
 kinswoman in his arms with every mad leap of 
 his pulses. For the first time in his life woman
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 67 
 
 to be shielded from woe and from abuse 
 came into this man's life. It was as if before she 
 had been only the thing his savage strain had 
 held her, but that, at this moment, civilization 
 and its better things, for woman, asserted itself 
 and cried," Protect love shield die for !" 
 Such care, such devotion, such rescue as Lucian 
 Beardsley could give a woman he would give 
 Dulcie DeWitt. So he vowed, and vowing, 
 watched with concern the Colonel come steadily 
 down the orchard. 
 
 "I'm clear undone, Beardsley," he said in the 
 moonlight, "he has been vivisecting Veesh's 
 puppies on a table. No wonder the poor beast 
 went half mad." 
 
 "Ride my horse, Colonel," said Lucian; 
 "stick on somehow, and I will drive the mares 
 and try to care for Mrs. DeWitt." 
 
 Slowly they went, Helvetia following. It 
 seemed miles to the Buckman place, miles 
 up the avenue and to the porch, where they 
 found Mrs. Buckman and a negro waiting 
 anxiously. 
 
 "We heard shots," she said, "and I know 
 something is wrong. Robert, Robert, what is 
 it?" 
 
 The Colonel slipped from the black horse 
 and sat upon the steps. 
 
 "I've brought Dulcie DeWitt home with us.
 
 68 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 I shot him, Sudie, and may God forgive me for 
 having been such a coward as to send her back 
 to him!" 
 
 "I shot him also," added Lucian Beardsley, 
 "and here is his victim. Let me carry her in and 
 go elsewhere." 
 
 He knew only the way to his own room, and 
 there left his burden on the bed. His great eyes 
 fairly blazed on Mrs. Buckman, who was still 
 standing by the Colonel. 
 
 "I'm going for a doctor to go out to that 
 place. Good-night, Mrs. Buckman, and do be 
 good to her. No woman ever suffered more." 
 
 He saw the wife lead the overwrought man up 
 the porch steps as he turned his horse into the 
 avenue and galloped away at a mad pace.
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 A DEED WITHOUT A NAME 
 
 IN the days that came after, Lucian Beardsley 
 could never remember with any exactness 
 the actual course of events. He was caught on 
 the whirlwind of Fate, tossed hither and thither 
 without conscious volition. There was a wild, 
 swift ride in the moonlight, a scurry beside a 
 glittering river, the click and clack of sharp hoofs 
 on a stony roadway, and then an impetuous en- 
 trance into the sleeping town of Grafton. They 
 told him afterwards that he had tried to batter 
 down the doors of the rambling country hotel. 
 At last a sleepy voice hailed him from above 
 and enquired mildly as to what was wanted. 
 Then the Virginian demanded hearers to a 
 story of how he had shot Dr. DeWitt an hour 
 before and wanted help sent out to him. 
 
 This was a tale exciting enough to bring 
 down not one but several men in undershirts 
 
 69
 
 70 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 and trousers. One or two of them brought along 
 revolvers and shot-guns. The landlord was a 
 cool and lank individual, who at once opened 
 up the bar to meet emergency calls. His voice 
 was always soothing and persuasive. 
 
 "Sence you're ready dressed, Mr. Beardsley, 
 p'raps you wouldn't mind rousin' the doctah, 
 sah. Third house up the road. He is used to it, 
 so jes' raise your voice up a trifle. We'll hitch 
 right up, an' a couple of us will lick out there 
 with Doc. Sure you hain't killed him, damn him ? 
 Then you come right back heah, sah, an' we'll 
 put you up 'til mornin'. We'll get Beam' Van Wye 
 fer you ef ye're arrested you expect that, 
 shorely, sah an' he'll see to all the prelimina- 
 ries. The law has to take its coas', sah. You'll 
 understand we all yer friends an' would do it 
 ourselves if necessary. You'll be cleared, sah, 
 of coas', sah." 
 
 "Arrest me?" cried the Virginian, aghast at 
 the idea. 
 
 "Suttinly, sah, but it won't 'mount to a 
 thing. Call the doctah, Mr. Beardsley, while I 
 rouses up the niggahs." 
 
 Lucian rushed his sweating horse a little 
 farther on. The doctor, burly and jovial, ap- 
 peared in his night-clothes upon a convenient 
 upper gallery. While listening to an incoherent 
 tale he reached backward, and with no embar-
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 71 
 
 rassment, continued to don his garments of the 
 daytime. As he strained his suspenders and 
 buttoned and tied he flung out remarks to the 
 horseman below. 
 
 "I don't care if you've settled him forever. 
 He's gone so far he's only fit for an insane asylum, 
 and that's about the honest fact. Nothing can 
 be done for him now and she will have to leave 
 him some day. Yes, I'm hurrying. He probably 
 isn't so bad off if he could cuss as lively as you 
 said he did." 
 
 He turned ere he disappeared in through a 
 door. 
 
 "You don't have any idea I had better send 
 for the Coroner, do you ?" 
 
 A faintness came over the spirit of the Vir- 
 ginian. The question was too blunt. He shook 
 his head and rode back to the hotel. It was 
 filling up with neighbouring men and a few 
 women. All were discussing the story. 
 
 "Let me have a room, will you?" he said a 
 little haughtily; "let me get out of this." 
 
 A sarcastic female flung a remark after him: 
 
 "Makes mighty free with his remarks as 
 well as his weepons, don't he ?" 
 
 "I'd hesh if I war you," growled her husband; 
 " as if you owned all Grafton." 
 
 The lank landlord led Lucian up a dark stair- 
 way and into a corner room with five windows.
 
 72 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "I'd go to sleep if I war you," he advised, 
 "and I'll send out to the Colonel's after yer 
 things for you. I calkilate there'll be a warrant 
 out for you 'bout four o'clock, jes' as soon as 
 we've heerd from the doctor. But keep a stiff 
 upper lip. Beam' Van Wye, he will see to every- 
 thing, and all you got to do is to foot the bill." 
 
 Lucian fell on the bed physically exhausted. 
 
 "Send a telegram for my man, Blount Sum- 
 mers, at the Phoenix, Lexington. Tell him to 
 come down here with the baggage. Have you 
 any one to wait on me ? I'm about worn out." 
 
 The landlord mused. 
 
 "There mought be John Childress." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "O, an old negro around hyah. Come to 
 think of it, he war Mis' DeWitt's fathah's own 
 nigger. I calkilate I seen him hangin' around 
 downstairs a spell ago." 
 
 "Send him up if he is there," said Lucian, 
 lying on his back and gazing at the ceiling. 
 
 Presently a tall old negro entered, with a can 
 of hot water and a low bow. Lucian lay quite 
 still. Gentle fingers unfastened his collar and 
 tie, relieved him of his shoes, and bathed his 
 dusty face and hands. Later a generous drink 
 put life into him. He sat up then. The negro 
 regarded him with much interest. 
 
 "What is your name, boy ?"
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 73 
 
 "John, sah, John Childress." 
 
 "That is a good name." 
 
 "Yes, sah, I war raised 'long o' Miss Dulcie's 
 paw. Air she any hu't, sah ? I do t'anks you fer 
 shootin' dat deliberlt debbil, sah." 
 
 "O, you do! Well, John, stay here and wait 
 on me. Once, long ago, our family and one of 
 the old Childress people married. Mrs. DeWitt 
 is a cousin, you see. That is why I could not 
 stand it. See ?" 
 
 "I see whar ye're jes' right, sah." 
 
 "John, I'm going to sleep. If the law comes 
 to the door, keep it out until I get rested. Mind 
 what I tell you, John!" 
 
 The man grinned and rolled his sad eyes. 
 
 "I wull, sah, I wull. I tells Massa Van Wye 
 jes' ter keep de lor in de hall fer a spell." 
 
 Lucian's superb health conquered his nerves. 
 He fell into a dreamless slumber after reflecting, 
 very much as all moneyed men are apt to re- 
 flect, that wealth is a key that opens all doors. 
 While the Virginian lay there, quietly sleeping, 
 the law came and waited respectfully for him 
 to awaken. Outside his door sat a town marshal, 
 with a warrant sworn out by Dr. DeWitt's 
 cousin, Henry Swayne, and the village lawyer, 
 Beamer Van Wye. 
 
 Morning came and brought the news that Dr. 
 DeWitt was shot twice, both in the arm and
 
 74 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 side, but that one shot made only a flesh wound. 
 The town seethed with the idea that Colonel 
 Buckman, also, was a guilty party, although the 
 man asleep above stairs had not once mentioned 
 the fact. Dr. DeWitt had mouthed curses and 
 threats enough to tell the truth, although still 
 raving like a lunatic. Henry Swayne swore out 
 another warrant, and two constables went to 
 Broad Acres. At last the increasing noise out- 
 side the hotel wakened Lucian. He opened his 
 eyes to see John sitting at the door, which pushed 
 inward, and was fastened by a great wooden but- 
 ton as well as an iron bolt. 
 
 "Dey air out dar, sah." 
 
 "They?" 
 
 "Constubbles an* ma'shul, sah. Massa Van 
 Wye done got you bailed out a'reddy." 
 
 Lucian laughed, but a little bitterly. He won- 
 dered what his brother Fordyce would say if 
 he knew. Then he thought of Dulcie DeWitt and 
 groaned. Life had lost its zest. 
 
 The man that John now let in at the cau- 
 tiously opened door was tall and handsome, 
 middle-aged, but curiously blighted in appear- 
 ance. It was not dissipation, but as if a sharp axe 
 had been at the roots of an oak tree that dies 
 slowly and surely. His face was even noble, and 
 his long hair was pushed back from a brow 
 white and broad to a fault.
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 75 
 
 The two men gazed at each other for a mo- 
 ment. Lucian held out his hand and said: 
 
 " I am glad to meet you sir." 
 
 The lawyer replied in kind, but regarded the 
 Virginian with a curious yet courteous scrutiny. 
 He asked a few questions, then remarked: 
 
 "You will have no trouble, Mr. Beardsley, 
 as Doctor DeWitt is only winged a little and 
 the wound in the side a flesh scratch. I am sure 
 neither of you shot to kill, and it is a good thing, 
 a good thing. Mrs. DeWitt will get the worst of 
 it because of the publicity." 
 
 Lucian Beardsley flushed in spite of his 
 efforts. 
 
 "That is a hard assertion for me to listen 
 to. She is a distant kinswoman of mine, and I 
 mean to stand by her." 
 
 "Colonel Buckman is coming," the lawyer 
 observed dryly; "they got him quick enough." 
 
 The horse breeder looked a decade older in 
 the morning light. Deep lines furrowed his red 
 face. He shook hands with the lawyer and then 
 came over and sat by Lucian's bed. 
 
 "I hope you slept, Beardsley. I never closed 
 my eyes. I cannot get the horror of it out of 
 my mind. They say he is all right, but Dulcie 
 is in a bad way. I've sent the doctor right out. 
 That wretch gave her morphine or chloroform 
 all day because she was going to run away.
 
 7 6 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 He let all the negroes off on a holiday excur- 
 sion." 
 
 "And your wife?" 
 
 "Is nursing Dulcie as her mother would have 
 done, but is broken-hearted, broken-hearted 
 over the scandal there will be." 
 . "Scandal?" 
 
 "Every Tom, Dick, and Harry in the county 
 will be rolling it all over their tongues. Folks 
 are bound to talk, but we must not tell not 
 we what we really saw there." 
 
 "But, Colonel - 
 
 "You must spare the woman, Beardsley. O, 
 you will, you will! He could easily attack us, 
 you see, for some remark we carelessly passed, 
 or about your refusal to take the horse. That 
 would do very well. Lord, Beardsley, you could 
 not get up and tell about all that, not you! 
 Come here, Van Wye, and convince this young- 
 ster. We all must save Dulcie, Beamer; we 
 must!"- 
 
 "Show up the villain!" cried Lucian with 
 heat. 
 
 "The law don't ask for such a sacrifice of 
 her," expostulated the Colonel, " and to think of 
 it all being in the papers, going everywhere! 
 Why, her father would come out of his grave, 
 wouldn't he, Beamer ? We shot, both of us. That's 
 all. Fine whatever old Billy Bosworth wants.
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 77 
 
 Fine paid, drinks all round, everything pleasant, 
 and that's the end that's all!" 
 
 The Colonel slapped his thigh with unction 
 at his own contrivances. 
 
 "I think the man should be exposed, not 
 shielded," declared the Virginian. "Men should 
 stand by their deeds." 
 
 The quiet one glanced over the Colonel's head 
 out of the window. 
 
 " I have held back nothing," went on Lucian, 
 "but it was truth. I will not deny it." 
 
 "You ought to have thought deeper," re- 
 torted the Colonel, " but, of course, you are not 
 one of us. You can't understand us. No one 
 outside can." 
 
 Pride burned on Lucian's brow. 
 
 "Colonel, a hundred years ago my great- 
 grandmother and great-grandfather were mar- 
 ried here. She was a Kentuckian. My grand- 
 father was born here. I feel that I have some 
 claim on the kindness of the people here, some 
 sympathy with them, while I am proud to be a 
 Virginian. But over all that, I am a man and not 
 a child. I think my cousin for cousin she is 
 to me has been cruelly treated by you all ; 
 is not protected or shielded from criminal 
 cruelty. Why not expose this madman's crimes ? 
 Why not rescue the well-born woman from a 
 degradation that is actually foul ? They say no
 
 78 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 asylum would have him after his drug sprees 
 are over. She, and she alone, because married 
 to him, must endure all. I will not hide or palliate 
 such a course, not I!" 
 
 "So you want to tell it all, you?" angrily 
 cried the Colonel. 
 
 "I do not want to tell anything," retorted 
 Lucian. "Were it not for the woman, I would 
 leave you all in contempt. I will be silent now, 
 but I feel assured that this exposure will have 
 to come sooner or later; I shall choose my own 
 way to work." 
 
 "Take my advice," roared the Colonel. "Go 
 back home and let us alone and let Dulcie alone. 
 You are not of us, and you must not interfere. 
 You've been world-raised, educated, polished, 
 slicked over, all your decent old notions plastered 
 with ones brought over from France and Eng- 
 land and God knows where, only that it is 
 where people are so old they're rotten. You 
 haven't any idea of the way we regard marriage. 
 You have never thought once of it as sacred. 
 Women to you are playthings, and when the 
 paint wears off you throw them away like 
 toys." 
 
 The plain truth of these remarks absolutely 
 calmed Lucian's anger. He smiled rather 
 amused. 
 
 "Some of those things are very true, Colonel.
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 79 
 
 Some others are new to me. I hope I am sound 
 at the core, but I do not suppose I feel as you 
 do. Well, I will keep silent in spite of my 
 convictions. I'll do more. I've sprained my 
 ankle somehow, and will not appear at all." 
 
 This view of the case was so eminently satis- 
 factory to the Colonel that he became as meek as 
 a lamb. 
 
 "Set the case for nine o'clock," he said to the 
 lawyer; "'pears to me you are a mighty help, 
 ain't you ? Haven't said a damn word all this 
 time. Well, you know what to do now. I'll 
 appear, he will not, and I'm going to eat my 
 breakfast and feel better afterwards. Have yours 
 sent up, Beardsley ? I brought over your dressing- 
 case and valises for you." 
 
 "I feel like going asleep again," said the 
 Virginian. "Now suppose you hold your little 
 Kentucky hocus-pocus any way you like. I'll 
 pay all the fines if I can only sleep and not feel 
 so furious when I wake up. It don't pay. Go 
 ahead, Colonel, and Mr. Van Wye, and suppose 
 you order all that this house affords on me. 
 You will please treat Mr. Van Wye to the best, 
 Colonel, and let me alone." 
 
 "A right testy and chesty gentleman," quoth 
 the lawyer below stairs at the bar, "even for 
 these parts." 
 
 "A man, by the eternal!" quoth the Colonel
 
 8o THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 in reply, "a man such as we had in the old 
 days when courage counted for something. A 
 spirit uncompromising and yet admirable. He 
 would certainly fall in love with Dulcie if he was 
 with her, the foolish poppet she is. I'll fight 
 him tooth and nail about it, Beamer, but I 
 don't know how it will turn out. He's ne*w to us, 
 new to us, and we can't measure the new ways 
 and fashions out here. He would think she was 
 just as good divorced as if she was fresh and new 
 for him. I've heard that where he come from 
 they like experience better than freshness. Young 
 men marry older women, and men and women 
 change partners like at a dance. It is all too 
 much for me, and I'm too old-fashioned to under- 
 stand. Dulcie is well-rooted in life. How will 
 she meet these new ideas ? It's a fifteen puzzle, 
 that's what it is, Beamer. She has always blown 
 east and west with the wind. We must take care 
 of her, and keep her away from this divorce 
 business." 
 
 The lawyer regarded the Colonel with large, 
 deep-set eyes. Then he spoke out languidly: 
 
 "He is as daring as Satan, and has plenty of 
 money." 
 
 "A millionaire by rumour," confirmed the 
 Colonel; "one of the confounded Four Hundred 
 of New York, although of a good old Virginia 
 stock. Knows London and Paris and Vienna
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 81 
 
 as well as I know my own stable-yard, and goes 
 to St. Petersburg or Australia as easily as I go 
 to Lexington or Cincinnati. When you know it 
 all there isn't much to be afraid of, but I wish 
 he was in Guinea, instead of here, with his 
 new whims." 
 
 "But you like him." 
 
 " Can't help it, if he is a sort of forbidden thing, 
 according to my ideas. I suppose I would ad- 
 mire the devil's manners and shrewdness. They 
 must be pretty slick, Beamer. I'm thinking all 
 the time of our poor, sweet little woman out there. 
 Why, if he wanted to do it, he'd marry her in 
 twenty-four hours after divorcing her and never 
 feel a qualm of conscience, or he would not mar- 
 ry her at all. Who knows ? " 
 
 The spare, pale man was quite earnest as he 
 leaned over the small round breakfast-table. 
 
 "I rather believe in him, Colonel. I believe he 
 is sincere in his desire to help a kinswoman. " 
 
 " Sho ! " said the Colonel, " she is mighty tempt- 
 ing with those big, pitiful eyes of hers. She used 
 to twist me 'round her finger when she was ten. 
 Sincerity ? The devil, Van Wye!" 
 
 "Even he is sometimes not as black as he is 
 painted," suggested the lawyer. 
 
 The Colonel again relented over his breakfast. 
 
 " I like his spirit. I wish I was young again and 
 I would see something of the world myself. I
 
 8a THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 don't know much but horses and stables, after 
 all." 
 
 If ever Grafton suffered a grevious disappoint- 
 ment it was over the DeWitt shooting affair. All 
 the town was there and many of the county. The 
 New York "guy" did not appear and the Colonel 
 was obviously and determinedly good-natured. 
 The doctor's word excused Mr. Beardsley, whose 
 testimony was read. The Colonel testified to 
 shooting at Doctor DeWitt after high words. Mr. 
 Beardsley admitted the same. Both said it was 
 necessary and in self-defence. The doctor was not 
 himself and there one had it. Lawyer Van Wye 
 explained all this with great gravity, while every 
 soul in the room knew the actual truth or near it. 
 They admired the ingenuity, recognized the de- 
 vice, and understood the reason. Dr. Snow testi- 
 fied that Dr. DeWitt's wounds were not of a 
 serious character. As it was only a little gentle- 
 manly shooting, fines were assessed at fifty dollars 
 each for carrying concealed and deadly weapons, 
 and the crowd adjourned to the hotel bar, where 
 the Colonel at once ordered drinks all around 
 and the landlord, his wife and the stablemen 
 were kept busy for an hour dispensing liquid 
 hospitality. The Colonel and the lawyer found 
 Lucian eating a hearty breakfast, with the tray on 
 the bed, and he was quite ready to acknowledge a 
 great feeling of relief over the outcome.
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 83 
 
 "Henry Swayne wanted Bosworth to con- 
 tinue," said the Colonel, "but Bosworth knows 
 there hain't any money about Henry's business or 
 the doctor's, either." 
 
 "Law is law," quoth Van Wye smiling, "at 
 least in Grafton. Well, it is all over now, unless 
 Doctor DeWitt does a little gentlemanly shooting 
 on his own account when he goes on his next 
 tear." 
 
 "I will risk that," said Lucian, "as an opium 
 fiend is the worst of cowards and the worst of 
 bullies to boot. Now to another matter. Mr. Van 
 Wye, I have been asking John about a house here 
 that is empty and on the edge of Grafton. Is it not 
 called ' Paradise' ? John tells me it is partly fur- 
 nished and that it has long been empty. I feel that 
 it would suit me much better than a hotel while I 
 stay here." 
 
 " Do you mean that you would open it, furnish 
 it, and live there ?" 
 
 "For a time," said Lucian, "I feel that I am 
 needed here. It is carrying war right into the ene- 
 my's camp, Colonel, but as you think you are 
 doing right, so do I. I do not claim a conscience, 
 but my ideas and my inclinations tell me to 
 stay." 
 
 "Don't come out to Broad Acres for a while," 
 grinned the Colonel; "I think I see Mrs. Buck- 
 man when she hears that you're located. Don't
 
 84 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 you press yourself on us until we are reconciled. 
 Now we are unstrung and irritable. Mrs. DeWitt 
 is ill, very ill this time. The doctor has been out 
 and says she will not be herself for weeks. So you 
 will have to let her alone and maybe you will soon 
 get tired of it all. Grafton is not a lively place. " 
 
 "I think it is," said Lucian graciously; "it has 
 been exceedingly lively for several days. In fact, 
 short of a war, it gives one the most uncertain of 
 feelings. I wonder if I could drive down to see 
 this Paradise of yours to-morrow, Van Wye ? I 
 like the name. I believe I shall like the place." 
 
 "I'm off," cried the Colonel. "You do beat the 
 world. I don't know what I will hear next. I shall 
 fight you tooth and nail about Dulcie." 
 
 "What are you afraid of?" retorted the Vir- 
 ginian. " I suppose it will dawn on me some day 
 if you don't tell me. Things permeate a man here. 
 Now, Mr. Van Wye, tell me about this old Para- 
 dise I hear it has a most charming and old- 
 fashioned garden."
 
 CHAPTER SIX 
 
 IN THE VEIN OF CHIVALRY 
 
 ALL day the Virginian dozed and at last 
 slept soundly. When he awoke the next 
 morning he was once more normal and 
 placid. It was a warm morning and already the 
 flies buzzed busily against the blue mosquito net- 
 ting which screened the long windows. The man 
 idly watched them and did not trouble himself 
 to think. Suddenly the events of yesterday re- 
 curred to him with deep significance. Was he 
 asleep and did he dream, or had he awakened 
 from a long sleep and lived for the first time ? 
 
 All the while the old servant, John Childress, 
 fanned him tirelessly or moved about to add to 
 his comfort. Lucian followed his gaunt form with 
 an idle gaze. He scanned his features curiously, 
 he noted with some shade of melancholy the high 
 cheek bones, the sidewise glances not unlike his 
 own, and always characteristic of that Indian an- 
 cestor as pictured by him.
 
 86 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "John," he said after a short consideration, 
 "John, I suppose you are called Childress after 
 your former master's family. That was the cus- 
 tom, wasn't it ? Was your master Philip Chil- 
 dress's father?" 
 
 "Yes, massa," replied the old man gently, "I 
 war brung right up erlong with Massa Philip. 
 He war jes' a little older'n me. " 
 
 " He should have given you a little house and 
 some ground," said Lucian musingly. 
 
 " De wah took most all dat, " replied the man, 
 " and he wanted Miss Dulcie to be fixed jes right. 
 Couldn't give every nigga he had owned a home. 
 Dar war moah than me, sah, wen de wah 
 come. " 
 
 "Well, I'll take you with me, John," spoke 
 the Virginian warmly. " I'll keep you with me. " 
 
 "You air moughty kind," observed the old 
 man, "but, sah, dar's two things I can't leab 
 my old woman and Kentucky, sah. Dem air 
 two things I can't leab. " 
 
 Lucian looked at him a moment. A week ago 
 he would have thought him foolish, shiftless. This 
 moment he was not able to form an opinion. He 
 thought the old man had a firm hold on a cord 
 that was tightening around his own heart. For- 
 tune had always been friends with him, but she 
 might frown, and, then, had he a saving rope out 
 anywhere ?
 
 CHAPTER SIX 87 
 
 He resolutely kept his thoughts from the events 
 of the previous night. He did not dare to think, 
 for even a passing thought shook his whole 
 being. It was a dream, a nightmare. He felt 
 that he might go mad himself at the very mem- 
 ory. 
 
 "John, John!" he cried, "I cannot stay in 
 doors any longer. We will go to see that house if 
 you will borrow me a cane. I must be out of doors 
 and drive the blue devils away. Your Kentucky 
 is too serious a matter." 
 
 While he was limping along the street, the 
 cynosure of many curious eyes, his English ser- 
 vant came up from the railroad station. He had 
 just arrived, also an array of trunks, bags, 
 parcels, and hampers that amazed the Grafton 
 loafers. 
 
 This man was a quiet Englishman who had 
 served Lucian since the time of his brother's mar- 
 riage. He liked his American master and was 
 faithful beyond his hire. If he was disgusted at 
 the summons to this small village it did not show 
 in his countenance, but his eyebrows lifted as 
 Lucian limped up with the old negro following 
 respectfully in the rear. 
 
 "Leave the trunks for the present, "ordered 
 Lucian, "You are going with me to look at a 
 house." 
 
 Mr. Summers, very correct in dress and man-
 
 88 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 ner, gave no hint of his feelings save in his eye- 
 brows. 
 
 "I'm going to promote you," went on his 
 master. "You will have to help me a great deal 
 while here, and I've taken on this man for a tem- 
 porary body-servant. Dress him up right. Linen 
 is the proper thing, isn't it ?" 
 
 Mr. Summers looked at the new servant and 
 thought that linen would be the proper thing. 
 
 The keys of the empty house were with Beamer 
 Van Wye. That worthy was reading Shaks- 
 pere while swinging in an old hammock back of 
 his frame office. He sprang up and put on a seer- 
 sucker coat when he saw the procession filing in 
 at the gate. 
 
 "You really want that house ?" he asked, quite 
 gaily for him. 
 
 " Really. My family grows, for I have adopted 
 John, and he will not leave his wife, he says. 
 Summers is indispensable, and I have two horses 
 besides my brother's new black one." 
 
 "Grafton has never before had a real fairy 
 prince," observed the lawyer dryly. "The young 
 maidens have been looking for the man in the 
 moon. Now he has come. " 
 
 His faded but expressive eyes met Lucian's 
 with a smiling and meaning look. The nonsense 
 and the arrival of his servant, a familiar figure 
 from the more placid existence of the past, up-
 
 CHAPTER SEX 89 
 
 lifted Lucian. He had but to order and there was 
 help at hand. 
 
 "Where is this Paradise?" he laughed as the 
 lawyer took down a bunch of keys and put on a 
 sun-bleached hat. 
 
 " On the outer edge of the village. It is still a 
 fine place. In other days it was the abode of hos- 
 pitality. The need of money is the reason of its 
 neglect. The owner is in Italy. His daughter had 
 a voice and was endeavouring to cultivate it when 
 she married there." 
 
 There was such a peculiar note of sadness in 
 his tone that Lucian forebore to question him. 
 
 They passed along the quiet Grafton streets 
 where wooden houses were set back in green 
 yards, sometimes deep in the embowering or- 
 chards. Now and again houses of red brick or 
 white frame, with porches and many outbuildings, 
 appeared. At last there appeared a long, low wall 
 of grey masonry, over which the branches of fruit 
 trees hung low. 
 
 "Behind this wall lies Paradise," said the 
 lawyer; "its garden still deserves the name." 
 
 He unfastened a padlocked gate of white pal- 
 ings between two stone posts. Above the rose- 
 vines formed an arch and, untrimmed for years, 
 swung blossoming branches over their very 
 heads. A grass-grown avenue led forward to a cir- 
 cular plat. In the midst of wild-growing weed and
 
 90 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 bush stood an ancient sun-dial. The circular ave- 
 nue passed before the lower steps of a red house, 
 one story in the front, while further back the 
 windows of the second story showing plainly over 
 the flat roof. A terrace of masonry was built 
 along the broad front of the house, a flight of 
 steps led up to a double door set in a recessed 
 alcove of elaborately carved woodwork. Vines 
 broken and untrained were riotous everywhere. 
 Trailing rose-branches and honeysuckle tendrils 
 covered the front steps, while purple clematis and 
 wistaria shook at them from the corners of the 
 house and windows. 
 
 Lucian drew a deep breath. 
 
 "Paradise!" he breathed hungrily. "I can 
 make this place so lovely that every one will stand 
 outside disconsolate. It will be almost an Italian 
 place, with awnings here and there, and this 
 garden rearranged. Let us go inside, Mr. Van 
 Wye." 
 
 There was a wide hall through the house, a 
 quaint, narrow, curving staircase at the back, 
 four large rooms in the main building and half a 
 dozen smaller ones in the rear. The furniture was 
 old, very quaint and very dusty, and many of the 
 bare windows were broken. 
 
 "As it is, it is much better than the hotel," 
 said Lucian, "and I will sleep here to-night even 
 if I do see ghosts. The deed is done, good Mr.
 
 CHAPTER SIX 91 
 
 Van Wye. You are privileged to smoke every 
 night on this terrace and to keep me company. " 
 
 " How long will you want it ? " asked the law- 
 yer curiously. 
 
 " How long, how long ? " repeated Lucian, 
 startled. A problem stared him in the face. "Six 
 months, no, no, say a year. You see, I have my 
 cousin to look after. And now, my good friend, 
 sit you down and see what fine executive ability 
 Summers and myself have. John, you also have 
 your part to play. Where is your wife ?" 
 
 "Home, sir, in de old cabin." 
 
 "Can she keep this house with some of those 
 yellow girls for help ?" 
 
 "She's a good woman," put in the lawyer, 
 " and not so old as you would think, to look at 
 John." 
 
 "Get her here, John. Let her fix me that room 
 at once, and make the stable ready. Summers, 
 write out orders for our instant needs, and tele- 
 graph them to Lexington and Cincinnati." 
 
 He drew the lawyer's arm through his own and 
 they walked down the deserted garden paths. 
 
 "Do you know," Lucian remarked, watching 
 the scared flight of a number of cardinals who, 
 because of the long, deserted privacy of this odor- 
 ous garden had long nested there without fear, 
 "I have dwelt in lodgings, apartments, flats, 
 hotels, what not ? Fordyce and I once rented a
 
 92 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 whole palace for a summer but this this is 
 the first time in my life that I have ever had a real 
 home. " 
 
 "It means a great deal," acquiesced the pale 
 man, "to house, to shelter, to withdraw into, to 
 enclose one's self as in a circle of promising priv- 
 acy. It is a castle, a kingship, a reply to Nature's 
 best question. A home answers the deepest and 
 purest demand a man makes of himself." 
 
 Lucian's eyes shone under his fine brows. 
 
 "What a poem you make of it! I could not buy 
 that feeling with money. " 
 
 "The critic cannot write a song or verse," the 
 lawyer replied quietly, " and I have no home save 
 a room in a widow's boarding-house. " 
 
 "Be my guest while I stay here," impulsively 
 cried the Virginian. 
 
 "No, no. I would rather come and go, free as 
 air. It will be a place to look to, to linger in, and 
 where I can smoke my pipe when the oil gives 
 out of my lamp. " 
 
 He laughed half-sadly. 
 
 "You shall be my lawyer at least," said the 
 younger man. " I always have lawyers about. But 
 you will have to help me with my cousin if she 
 will allow it. Do you know" -here he smiled 
 very clearly up into the eyes of the man before 
 him- "I was imagining her a moment ago, 
 walking down this path with a happy look in her
 
 CHAPTER SIX 93 
 
 eyes and a smile. I have never seen her smile. I 
 only imagine it. She would look up at the birds 
 and her thoughts, her actions, her life, should 
 be as free as they are. " 
 
 His face was lit with enthusiasm. Beamer Van 
 Wye was startled. He gave him a sharp look of 
 scrutiny and walked onward. 
 , "You are either angel or devil," said he as he 
 turned into the avenue. "I wonder which one ?" 
 
 "Your ideas and Mrs. Buckman's are singu- 
 larly alike," laughed Lucian. "The question was 
 never presented to me before I came to Ken- 
 tucky. Here people will have your spiritual pedi- 
 gree. I really do not know, Van Wye," he con- 
 tinued a little mockingly, " but whatever is press- 
 ing me onward drives me on as a wind drives a 
 ship on to the rocks. " 
 
 That night the new occupant, Summers, and 
 John Childress slept in the red house, the first in- 
 habitants for years. By the next night it was more 
 habitable, and, within a week the whole county 
 was talking of the millionaire from New York 
 who had leased the old Le Due house, of his 
 horses and fine carriages, his many servants and 
 the extent of the changes he made. The fact that 
 he was kin to Dulcie DeWitt and had shot the 
 doctor for trying to abuse her was fine food for 
 gossiping tongues. 
 
 Busy as he was, Lucian did not forget to send a
 
 94 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 daily note to the Colonel, accompanied by some 
 fruit or flowers for Mrs. Buckman. He asked for 
 news of his cousin and repeated his desire to see 
 her when she was better. He also invited the Colo- 
 nel to come to see him in his new quarters, add- 
 ing that he hoped the day would soon come when 
 he could ask Mrs. Buckman. To these polite es- 
 says he received formal little notes of thanks, 
 with the meagre information that, as yet, Mrs. 
 DeWitt could see no one. This went on for a fort- 
 night and Lucian grew restless. He felt quite re- 
 lieved, one afternoon, to see Colonel Buckman 
 and Beamer Van Wye strolling up the avenue of 
 Paradise, and he went forward to welcome them 
 with a glow of good feeling that he had never ex- 
 perienced when host to more important men 
 whom he had dined and wined in other days. 
 
 The fat Colonel looked about him at the 
 flower-set terrace, the awnings and the screens 
 of Indian matting, the couches, divans and fans, 
 and then stared at the Virginian until he laughed 
 aloud. 
 
 "We're slow folks here," he said, "but you've 
 brought India into Kentucky. Well, you've done 
 wonders. We've got to treat you right when you 
 are spending so much money with us, eh, 
 Beamer?" 
 
 The lawyer laughed also, that half-sad note, 
 and followed Lucian with his eyes as he stretched
 
 CHAPTER SIX 95 
 
 himself out on his divan. John went busily to and 
 fro with ices, glasses of cooling drinks, and fans. 
 Lucian was at his best, very gay, very handsome, 
 yet always with that singular alertness and readi- 
 ness that was more attractive than his beauty. 
 He might have been an East Indian of high 
 caste among his present surroundings, and his 
 warm pallor and white clothing aided the illu- 
 sion. 
 
 "The Indian boy his ancestor adopted was 
 probably a Shewanee," mused the lawyer, "and 
 the Shewanee, of all the Indian tribes, alone cher- 
 ished the idea that he had originally crossed a 
 great water. Who knows from whence came this 
 man ? There are in him strange blendings of 
 prince and savage. He says, 'Fortune and I are 
 friends' with a laugh. Fate, the angels, Satan, 
 God who does favour him, for he is favoured 
 among mortals?" 
 
 "How is my cousin and Mrs. Buckman ?" re- 
 cited the Colonel, "and I bring you my wife's 
 message that you can call on Mrs. DeWitt to- 
 morrow afternoon for an hour." 
 
 "How is DeWitt?" 
 
 The lawyer replied: 
 
 " He is getting on very well. He hasn't any par- 
 ticular use for you. " 
 
 "Very likely. What about the Colonel ?" 
 
 "O, the Colonel is an old neighbour. Besides,
 
 96 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 he knows right where the Colonel stands in re- 
 spect to his past conduct." 
 
 " Does he want to know where I stand ? " asked 
 Lucian, coolly. "I can send out my opinion to 
 him by a messenger if he has any doubt about it. 
 We do not screen actual brutalities down East. 
 We publish villainies and expose criminals." 
 
 "Now you are a resident, you must be more 
 loyal to your own neighbourhood," said the 
 Colonel. "Good Lord! What's the use of putting 
 all one's family affairs into the newspapers ? It 
 don't do any good. You're too rash, my dear 
 fellow, and I'm afraid you are going to hear your 
 cousin, far removed, tell you so some day. " 
 
 A chill ran down Lucian's back. He lifted his 
 cigar and said, with the utmost coolness: 
 
 "That may be. But remember, I have not seen 
 or talked to my cousin. She thinks she is en- 
 compassed in hopeless misery even as the Cubans 
 were shut in by those terrible tangles of barbed 
 wire. She may see with my eyes later on, and 
 free herself." 
 
 Beautiful eyes his were, with a look of deter- 
 mination. The Colonel sighed and gave himself 
 up to the delights of the hour as expressed by an 
 unlimited amount of mint julep, good cigars, and 
 a story-teller like Beamer Van Wye to amuse 
 one's leisure.
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 WHO EVER LOVED THAT LOVED NOT AT FIRST SIGHT? 
 
 The next afternoon Dulcinea DeWitt was 
 resting peacefully on a low couch in 
 the wire-screened north porch at Broad 
 Acres. She was still so white and weak that Dr. 
 Snow talked gravely of Northern air and the 
 benefits of a change. Her white gown, one 
 of Mrs. Buckman's, was hardly whiter than 
 her pinched face, in which her large eyes 
 seemed pathetically round and childish. As yet 
 the woman had not roused from her apathetic 
 surrender to despair. She never would know all 
 that had happened. She knew that, in the first 
 awful hours of her terror that day, she had tried 
 to escape but was unsuccessful. Beyond that was 
 black horror, and she only knew that she was now 
 at Broad Acres and that the first time the Colonel 
 had been in to see her he had actually cried over 
 her declaring he would never send her home
 
 98 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 until she wanted to go. In time, she vaguely 
 thought, she would have to go back, but now she 
 would rest and wake at night to pray that 
 something, anything, death itself would give her 
 future rest and peace. Sometimes a formless re- 
 solve agitated her. She thought of death, and the 
 thought, once cherished, became strangely sweet 
 to her, although it was in the vaguest way and as 
 a means of escape. 
 
 At times, fleeting impressions held her. She re- 
 membered moonlight, the dog's howls and cries, 
 the ride, the Colonel's protecting arms and 
 another sense of protection but all these im- 
 pressions were like dreams, so mysteriously, 
 vaguely indistinct. She asked no questions, be- 
 cause to know anything surely was certain mis- 
 ery and degradation. The Colonel did not see her 
 often. It always seemed to affect him to a strange 
 degree. She grew surer and surer that something 
 terrible had happened on that May night. 
 
 "Comp'ny comin', Mis' Dulcie," said Mrs. 
 Buckman's Milly, armed with comb and brush, 
 "I got tuh fix yuh ha'r nice." 
 
 "Who is it?" inquired Dulcie, languidly. "It 
 is not Dr. Snow's day." 
 
 "Dunno. Mis' Sudie done tole me tuh fix yuh 
 up neat an' purty for comp'ny." 
 
 As Milly fastened up the abundant braids of 
 hair Mrs. Buckman came in.
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 99 
 
 "The Colonel is going to bring a visitor, Dul- 
 cie," she said very gently, "a gentleman who is a 
 sort of cousin of yours quite distant. They 
 have got those papers for you that your father 
 always wanted to get from Nancy Manifold." 
 
 "Really!" exclaimed Dulcie with a show of 
 interest. " I thought Peter Manifold said he never 
 would give them up." 
 
 "I believe his second wife coaxed him to do 
 it," replied Mrs. Buckman straightening the pil- 
 low. " She seems well disposed now, though she 
 was such a wild girl. She's got a little baby and 
 she seems to be making Peter a good wife. " 
 
 "Nance had a right bad disposition," ob- 
 served Dulcie languidly; "no one could get on 
 with her at all. Who is this new cousin, Aunt Su- 
 die?" 
 
 " He comes from the East and is out here buy- 
 ing horses, I believe. His name is Beardsley. " 
 
 Suddenly a flush coloured all Dulcie's face. 
 
 "He never is that stranger who was going to 
 buy my Cupid, is he ?" 
 
 Mrs. Buckman bowed her head gravely and 
 said: 
 
 " I didn't know you knew his name. Where did 
 you hear it ?" 
 
 " O, every one knew that, I believe, the very 
 next day. It really isn't he, is it, Aunt Sudie ?" 
 
 "Yes, that's the man. He didn't know then
 
 ioo THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 that you were any kin to him. He found it out by 
 accident from something the Colonel said. His 
 great-grandmother was a Willa Childress. He 
 went after those papers Peter Manifold had, but 
 Kitty May was bound to send them over to you, 
 Dulcie." 
 
 Dulcie looked thoughtful. 
 
 "I don't want to see any one at all, Aunt Su- 
 die, unless I must. So he's kin or he claims kin ?" 
 
 "He claims kin," said Mrs. Buckman, "but 
 it is certainly a great ways off, and don't you 
 be carried away any with him. He is very differ- 
 ent from we all, and his ideas are different. 
 You know," rather sadly, "I'm real old-fash- 
 ioned myself, and I have strong notions of right 
 and wrong, but I guess they are the best ones to 
 have, Dulcie best, after all, dear. " 
 
 Dulcie was trembling almost to tears. 
 
 "I don't feel equal to seeing strangers just 
 yet," she began piteously, but the door opened 
 and the Colonel, very red in the face, ushered in 
 Mr. Lucian Beardsley. 
 
 Dulcie half-raised on her couch, looked across 
 at the newcomer with all her surprise in her 
 eyes. To him she seemed a wraith of a woman, 
 so white and wan was she. Her awakened soul 
 was in her eyes. Why had he come into her life ? 
 He was such a man as she had rarely seen and 
 never come in contact with before, and it gave an
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 101 
 
 undue importance to the hour that he was so 
 faultlessly dressed and so well groomed and 
 looked a very prince of men and fortune. Mrs. 
 Buckman was groaning in spirit as she scanned 
 him, but it is plain justice to her to say that she 
 regarded his fashionable raiment as only so much 
 additional temptation to Dulcie's senses. 
 
 The Colonel's tone was a little gruff. 
 
 "This is Mr. Lucian Beardsley," he said, "a 
 sort of cousin of yours, although far removed. 
 He has those papers from Nancy Manifold that 
 your father wanted you to have." 
 
 Lucian advanced with the black box in his 
 hand. He laid it on the couch near Dulcie's thin 
 hand and saw absolute fright in her face al- 
 though he spoke in a winning way. 
 
 "I have so few kinsmen and women that I 
 must claim even distant ones." 
 
 "I am alone myself," returned Dulcie impul- 
 sively. 
 
 Their eyes met. Dulice's hand fluttered, piti- 
 lessly nervous, over the box. The Virginian drew 
 up a chair and sat beside her. Mrs. Buckman, in 
 her rocker, knitted on fine thread lace with shin- 
 ing needles. The Colonel, on the other side, 
 smoked his pipe. 
 
 "I have not had time to study all this out in 
 my mind," began Lucian softly, "but this testa- 
 ment and medal are precious indeed. They must
 
 i< THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 have come from France with our first ancestors, 
 the Huguenot refugees, nearly two hundred years 
 ago. This long, coarse black hair is not a wo- 
 man's. Could it have been that of our Indian 
 great-great-grandfather ? This yellow hair may 
 be that of Willa Childress, for my grandfather's 
 hair was once as yellow as this, he told me. And 
 these records, my cousin ? You will see that they 
 are almost unbroken and that from our same 
 great-grandmother comes your light locks. 
 
 Dulcie listened stupidly, amazed. It was too 
 much to think about at once, and she was weak. 
 But was it not all a dream ? Was this man really 
 kin to her, the quiet Kentucky woman full of 
 sorrows and griefs ? 
 
 " I do want to be good to you, " went on Lu- 
 cian bravely, "for I am sure you need a cousin 
 and a brother. Do let me say it to you. I would 
 like to see you happy. " 
 
 The word was unfortunate. Dulcie shrank 
 back and her lips quivered. Lucian pulled him- 
 self up bravely. 
 
 "Yes, I mean it. My brother Fordyce and I are 
 able to do something. We can and will claim you, 
 and if you do not want to stay here we will take 
 you far away from your troubles. " 
 
 Dulcie gazed at the bold speaker as a bird is 
 fascinated by a serpent. Then she wept. 
 
 "O, Aunt Sudie, my home, my dear home!"
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 103 
 
 "You see she cannot stand words ever so kind- 
 ly meant," said Mrs. Buckman at her side. "I 
 wanted you to see for yourself. She is not strong 
 and must be calm." 
 
 Lucian rose. 
 
 "I can wait until she understands the 
 thought," he said pleasantly. "I meant what I 
 said. I want to help any way I can, but it will all 
 wait a while." 
 
 " I'll be blamed if I see just how you are going 
 to do it," groaned the Colonel as they descended 
 the portico steps. "You see you are not used to 
 dealing with Kentucky women, and that's a plain 
 fact. Dulcie was scared out in one moment. She 
 never was a daring girl like Kitty May, and she 
 isn't a daring woman. In a week or two she will 
 go back to Glen Farm, seeing it as her clear 
 duty." 
 
 "Do you mean it?" asked Lucian, stroking 
 the nose of a hound that walked beside him. 
 "I thought you said you never would send her 
 back, Colonel. You did promise it." 
 
 " I never will," said the Colonel stoutly, " but 
 she will choose to go. There is something queer 
 about women our women, anyhow. When 
 they once see their duty, they just march through 
 fire and water to do it." 
 
 "And," observed Lucian in a tone that the 
 Colonel had learned to dread, "you still think
 
 104 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 it is her duty to return to Dr. DeWitt in spite of 
 all that you know is true ?" 
 
 "I didn't say that, didn't say that," retorted 
 the Colonel. " I will never ask her to return nor 
 allow Mrs. Buckman to mention it to her 
 that's settled. But she'll come to it herself. One 
 thing, her business affairs are at a pretty pass. 
 I don't doubt from what I hear that Glen Farm 
 and Kentucky Cupid will both have to go. By 
 the way, I've got that horse here. Want to see 
 him ? Dulcie sent for him as soon as she could 
 sit up." 
 
 An hour later Lucian was closeted with 
 Beamer Van Wye in his shabby office. Both 
 men were smoking furiously. 
 
 "I cannot tell you who holds Glen Farm mort- 
 gage," declared the lawyer. "You must move 
 with caution, Beardsley. You don't want that 
 place anyhow. It is only fit for grazing." 
 
 In Lucian Beardsley's soul the words burned: 
 
 "O, my home, my home!" 
 
 "Buy it and the horse if you can, and I'll 
 keep them for her. She is going to be free. I see 
 it in her eyes, Van Wye. She is like an animal 
 gathering strength for a leap." 
 
 "Yet you have seen her but three times in 
 your life," mused the lawyer. 
 
 "Three or three thousand. It is all the 
 same to me. There is a time when the people
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 105 
 
 live, measure quickly, decide with strength or 
 lose life's favours. She is the only woman re- 
 lative I care to claim. Since I have found her 
 I seem changed by her need of me. Buy the farm 
 and secure the horse if you can. Arrange it 
 quietly." 
 
 "You will fall foul of DeWitt yet." 
 
 "Maybe. What can he do ? The drug store is 
 the great comfort of his existence. He can live 
 anywhere." 
 
 " His wife may follow him." 
 
 Beamer Van Wye reached down his ancient 
 hat. 
 
 "It is warm within. Let us walk toward 
 Paradise," he continued. 
 
 The two strolled along under the trees and 
 had walked quite a distance before the lawyer 
 again spoke. 
 
 "Beardsley, you must not persuade that wo- 
 man from her husband." 
 
 Lucian flushed darkly. His sidewise glance 
 was almost savage in its defiance. 
 
 "There you go! Is every one leagued against 
 the rescue of my cousin from degradation and 
 misery? I mean to tell her that I will be her 
 kinsman, her protector 
 
 He stopped short. There was a fierce light or 
 gleam in Beamer Van Wye's eye that he did 
 not like.
 
 106 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "You mean," said the lawyer, "that in your 
 kind rashness you would ask Mrs. DeWitt to 
 commit a folly that she would repent most bit- 
 terly in after years." 
 
 "What folly?" 
 
 "Leaving her husband on your account." 
 
 In spite of himself Lucian grew white. 
 
 "I merely mean to help her." 
 
 "I believe that is true now, but, Beardsley, 
 I have always felt that that woman has never, 
 never been what she could be if she had had a 
 chance. I mean that she is like a blighted rose, 
 and, somehow though you may not yet know 
 it you feel it, also, now don't you ? You long 
 to see what she would be if there were other 
 conditions and she was under other influ- 
 ences. Do you want to ruin her future for a 
 whim?" 
 
 They were slowly entering the gates of Para- 
 dise. From the high arch the luxuriant rose- 
 wreaths hung. In the garden birds twittered 
 and chirped about the great beds of flowers and 
 over the old sun-dial. Under the awnings where 
 the light winds moved could be seen willow 
 couches, the cushioned easy-chairs and old John 
 grinning in an expectant welcome. The lawyer 
 went on very softly: 
 
 "A stormy, dissatisfied childhood, a dis- 
 appointment in marriage I would not like
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 107 
 
 to think of Dulcie DeWitt's future made any 
 darker by the breath of scandal, would you ?" 
 
 There was a silence, broken only by their foot- 
 steps on the fresh gravel. Finally the Virginian 
 spoke: 
 
 " Is there nothing in your opinion that 
 I can do safely ?" 
 
 "O, yes. Save the farm and the house if you 
 will. Brighten her life by kindly words, but do 
 not influence her at all as to her husband or 
 her future. Let that work itself out." 
 
 "She may leave him of her own accord," 
 flashed out the younger man, "and then ?" 
 
 "Then then if you had honestly never 
 interfered I would honour you and bid you 
 Godspeed, Beardsley." 
 
 The tall Virginian stopped at the foot of the 
 terrace steps. His face was inscrutably grave, 
 his eyes were alight. He held out his hand. 
 
 "Van Wye, I have never yet played the delib- 
 erate rascal. I suppose that you are right. I 
 have felt that in regard to women I was some- 
 what different from my fellow-men. Perhaps 
 that was all a mistake, for we all make mis- 
 takes in life. I have never felt towards others 
 - exactly as I do towards her. She is a kins- 
 woman, but I would not hurt her. O, no! I 
 will never persuade her. I will even go away 
 for a little while and then we shall see. I will
 
 io8 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 go to Cincinnati myself, Van Wye, and see 
 whether she chooses to return to Glen Farm. 
 How will that do?" 
 
 For an answer the lawyer passed his arm 
 around his companion's shoulder. 
 
 "Some day you will see matters more clearly. 
 I know, yes, I know all that you feel. You are 
 right; and, now, when will you go ? When will 
 you go ?" 
 
 "To-morrow," replied Lucian clearly, "to- 
 morrow night. And, in the afternoon, I will go 
 once more to Broad Acres and tell them I am 
 called away. She will get strong and will decide. 
 I may never see her again. One can never cal- 
 culate on a Kentucky woman's mind, the Colo- 
 nel says. I will go to Cincinnati and Chicago, 
 and buy pretty things for Paradise. Let us go 
 in, Van Wye. Dinner is served and I am in no 
 mood to eat it alone."
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 WITH GRIEF THAT'S BEAUTY'S CANKER 
 
 DULCINEA DEWITT was roused by the 
 Virginian's visit to a more hopeless 
 agony than she had ever felt. She could 
 not decide on a future course, although a resolve 
 seemed forming itself even against her will. It 
 was that she could not return to Glen Farm. 
 How to act, where to turn, her future abiding 
 place all these questions came into her mind 
 on awaking and finally haunted the hours when 
 she could have slept. The waters of bitter- 
 ness flooded her soul even while she cried in 
 secret, "God forgive me, but I can never re- 
 turn!" 
 
 Presently she grew sensitive because of the 
 really strained atmosphere about her. Her dead 
 father seemed to return in dreams and, with his 
 severe yet sweet smile, bid her endure to the 
 very end. She thought this a cruel suffering and 
 109
 
 no THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 her outraged womanhood said sternly, "I can- 
 not!" 
 
 A week of this so tormented Dulcie that she 
 was alarmingly nervous and weak. Mrs. Buck- 
 man besought the Grafton doctor for stronger 
 tonics but he shook his head. 
 
 "What is the use ?" he asked. 
 
 "Then she will die." 
 
 The Colonel groaned. 
 
 "To make matters worse, Dr. DeWitt has 
 written me, demanding her immediate return. 
 He knows that she can walk on the porches - 
 trust negro gossip for that. What can we do ?" 
 
 Mrs. Buckman grew red with anger. 
 
 " Dulcie is not going anywhere while she is so 
 ill. Tell him that." 
 
 "He threatened that he will advertise her." 
 
 Colonel Buckman's smile was more bitter. 
 
 "Trouble has just begun, Sudie. What does 
 Dulcie want to do ? Has she spoken of the mat- 
 ter?" 
 
 The wife shook her head and went out with 
 the doctor. When she returned she said sadly: 
 
 "Dr. Snow will not say anything encouraging. 
 You can leave that matter unanswered, Robert." 
 
 The doctor had hinted at Northern air and 
 a change. The second day after his visit Dulcie 
 was roused from one of her painful reveries 
 by the sounds of a lively altercation coming
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT in 
 
 from the stable yard. It was the Colonel's voice 
 and raised in high anger: 
 
 " How dare you come to Broad Acres ? One 
 would think you would never show your cow- 
 ard's face anywhere." 
 
 "I came after my wife," was the reply in an 
 angry, snarling tone that she at once recognized. 
 "She is able to come home, and you carried her 
 away from my house anyhow. I'll make you all 
 pay for it you all coming between a man and 
 his wife that way, shooting a man on his own 
 place, and that's what you did, Colonel Buck- 
 man." 
 
 Dulcie's heart stood still for the Colonel's 
 next words. She was, for the moment, full of 
 wild terror. The Colonel's voice answered, firm 
 and sonorous now. 
 
 "Your wife is here, but it will be only God's 
 goodness if she is ever well again. And she 
 shall never go from here again, Delby DeWitt, 
 unless of her own free will. Do you hear that, 
 man ?" 
 
 The ugly voice rose again : 
 
 "D'ye hear that, Mulvihill ? He refuses to 
 give me my wife up or even to let me see her. 
 D'ye hear that, Graham ?" 
 
 "You're all a set of regular scoundrels!" cried 
 the Colonel hotly. "A nice lot of men you are 
 coming here to pounce upon a sick woman. No,
 
 iiz THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 you cannot see her and never shall see her if I 
 have my way." 
 
 Pressing her face close against the screen, Dul- 
 cie saw Mrs. Buckman hurrying out over the 
 grass plot. Again the high voice she dreaded 
 came to her ears: 
 
 "You all are keeping my wife from me. I can 
 have action against you, can't I Mulvihill ? Mr. 
 Mulvihill is one of my lawyers, Mrs. Buckman." 
 
 "We are not keeping your wife from you," 
 said that lady very haughtily; "she is ill and we 
 are caring for her as her friends." 
 
 "She must come home. You all are standing 
 between husband and wife. I'll recover dam- 
 ages, I will! I know my rights." 
 
 The Colonel's rage had been steadily growing. 
 
 " Leave my place or there will be trouble. Get 
 out, all of you!" he ordered. 
 
 But Dulcie, in her thin wrapper and slippers, 
 was in their midst, Milly dragging at her vainly. 
 In amazement the men fell back. Dulcie's eyes, 
 always large and pathetic, were blazing with 
 a new wrath. 
 
 "Go home, Delby DeWitt," she said in a low 
 voice, "go home and go alone. These people are 
 not keeping me here. I will never return to 
 Glen Farm as your wife. It shall be sold and the 
 debts paid. That is my word now go!" 
 
 "O Dulcie, Dulcie, do be careful!" cried Mrs.
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 113 
 
 Buckman, "do be careful what you say. You 
 may feel different and forgiving when you're 
 well. Don't say that!" 
 
 "I never will go back," announced Dulcie 
 as quietly as before. "I want you all to bear 
 witness that I never will go back. I have borne 
 enough. No one has said one word to me. I have 
 made up my mind to it myself." 
 
 The Colonel shook his heavy whip. 
 
 "Hearing that, perhaps you all will leave 
 my premises in short order. The day of reckon- 
 ing is about here, DeWitt, and it's been too long 
 coming. That mortgage business ought to be 
 closed up at once. We'll try to save something 
 for Mrs. DeWitt if it can be done. Sudie, you 
 take Dulcie into the house. The hands are com- 
 ing and will clear the place." 
 
 True enough it was that the hands, warned 
 by a flying black urchin, were now running in 
 from the fields armed with their heavy hoes and 
 rakes. The Colonel was a popular master; his 
 negroes looked a formidable gang. 
 
 Dulcie walked back to the screened portico 
 and sat down with a new vigour in her. 
 
 "I do mean it," she said to Mrs. Buckman, 
 "I mean it. I've been coming to it for weeks, 
 months, years. I never will go back!" 
 
 Mrs. Buckman threw her black apron up to 
 her eyes and wept.
 
 H4 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 " It is a terrible thing after your training 
 and your fathah's wishes and what we all have 
 done for you." 
 
 "My!" said Dulcie, astonished, "did you all 
 expect I would go back ?" 
 
 Mrs. Buckman sobbed and nodded. 
 
 "I suppose we all did, Dulcie. We depended 
 on what you've been doing all along, being so 
 patient, so enduring. I suppose we all did think 
 you would." 
 
 "Well, I will not," said Dulcie coolly. 
 
 "O, lie down, do lie down," said the older 
 woman hysterically, "I know you have a fever 
 or something. It is a terrible thing to do. He is 
 your husband, you know. All men are trying 
 at times and you have had a great cross put upon 
 you. But don't you say that, for you will go back 
 when you are better, I am sure." 
 
 "No," repeated Dulcie, "no, and I'm better 
 for having said it. It stood in the way of my 
 getting well, Aunt Sudie. I didn't have the spiritto 
 say it before. I wanted to decide badly enough." 
 
 "But to say it so publicly! O, Dulcie, it will 
 be all over the county to-morrow and you'll 
 be disgraced!" 
 
 "Me disgraced!" retorted Dulcie with a new 
 spirit, "me disgraced ? What have I done ? I've 
 been disgraced for years and years, and that's 
 true, by what he has done."
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 115 
 
 "But to come right out there and before 
 the lawyers and the other men and say that!" 
 
 "I did it to save the Colonel. They cannot 
 say that you all influenced me now. I am not 
 going to be afraid of anything, never any more, 
 Aunt Sudie. I am going to live another life and 
 be another woman if I can." 
 
 Mrs. Buckman rocked wildly to and fro, sob- 
 bing: 
 
 "I knew your mothah and your fathah. She 
 was such a good woman! O, Dulcie, I hope you 
 all are never going to hurt us by your actions. 
 We all have set such a store by you." 
 
 Dulcie was pinning up her hair in its every- 
 day fashion. 
 
 " Dear Aunt Sudie," she said, pausing with the 
 hair-brush uplifted, "I believe I can be a better 
 woman than ever before. I feel like I can soon 
 believe in a God. Lately I only knew that there 
 was a hell." 
 
 " But what are you going to do ?" 
 
 " It will come to me, I suppose. I want to get 
 the business cleared up first. I do not feel weak 
 at all, Aunt Sudie. I want the Colonel to send 
 for Mr. Van Wye and talk it over. It seems of 
 no use for me to try to save Glen Farm in 
 fact, I don't want it. I suppose Cupid must go, 
 too, but I have made up my mind to everything 
 - anything."
 
 ii6 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 It was a sad household for the rest of the day, 
 and, when the excitement died away, Dulcie be- 
 came more and more conscious of the strong 
 disapproval in Mrs. Buckman. The Colonel did 
 not appear at dinner and it was not until three 
 o'clock in the afternoon that he drove up with 
 Beamer Van Wye in the buggy. He looked tired 
 and irritable. 
 
 "Is Dulcie able to come out here ?" he asked 
 after being soothed by several iced drinks and 
 much fanning. "That mortgage business is 
 going to be complicated by her refusal to re- 
 turn to Glen Farm. Does she still stick to 
 it? Is that what you are so red-eyed about, 
 Susan?" 
 
 Dulcie came out presently with a wan little 
 smile that went straight to the Colonel's heart. 
 
 "You made a fine talk for my sake, didn't 
 you?" he asked gruffly. "Who set you up to 
 think you could live without going back to Glen 
 Farm?" 
 
 "Nobody. I will not go," replied Dulcie 
 slowly. 
 
 " How long since you have made up your mind 
 to that?" 
 
 " It's been making itself up a long time, Col- 
 onel." 
 
 "Humph! Don't you feel any duty to go ? He 
 was the father of your children. Don't you re-
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 117 
 
 member that ? You can never get rid of those 
 happenings that have been in your life." 
 
 Dulcie's throat quivered. 
 
 "Do you think I've forgotten that ?" she asKed 
 piteously. "It has been a chain on me for years." 
 
 "So you mean to abandon him ?" 
 
 She bowed her head. 
 
 " Who's going to take care of you ? Now I 
 don't mean I'm going to turn you out, but I'm 
 not young. How will you live on alone ? You 
 never was any account for hard work, Dulcie." 
 
 Dulcie bowed her head anew. 
 
 " You can't run the farm if we could save it. 
 You can't manage Cupid on the racetrack. 
 You see you must consider all these things now 
 that your father has gone. You're just a nice, 
 pretty, sweet, easy creature that needs some one 
 to care for her mighty bad. What will you do 
 alone, Dulcie ?" 
 
 Dulcie shook her head under this speech and 
 her eyes filled. 
 
 "Hadn't you better reconsider it and try a 
 while longer?" 
 
 Then Dulcie broke down, but she cried out 
 between her sobs : 
 
 "I will never go back if I starve, Colonel, 
 never go back ! " 
 
 Mrs. Buckman came to the rescue. 
 
 "If she will not go, don't persecute her,
 
 ii8 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 Robert. She is suffering enough and she knows 
 how we stand." 
 
 The Colonel sniffed ominously. 
 
 "There's no way for you to get this property 
 question straightened out, Dulcie, without a 
 legal separation." 
 
 Dulcie regarded him with unbelieving eyes. 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A legal separation, a divorce." 
 
 "I never thought of such a thing, Colonel. 
 Can't I just live away, keep away, like I'm 
 doing?" 
 
 The ominous clouds cleared from the Colo- 
 nel's brow, while Beamer Van Wye actually 
 smiled. 
 
 "O, you are not after a divorce ?" 
 
 "Never thought of it once," retorted Dulcie 
 with much spirit; "I only want to keep away. 
 I want Mr. Van Wye to go and get my clothes 
 and a few things, and sell the rest and the place 
 to pay off the mortgage." 
 
 The men consulted together for a few mo- 
 ments and then the Colonel said, more cordially: 
 
 "Well, time does smooth over a great many 
 things. I guess we can fix matters up so they 
 can run along a little while, Susan, and that's 
 the best way out. I talked to the doctor from 
 Grafton and he wants Dulcie to go to the moun- 
 tains for a few weeks. I reckon it would clear
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 119 
 
 the air a heap if you would take her over to Old 
 Sweet, and, maybe, matters will take another 
 turn when you come back." 
 
 Two days later Lucian Beardsley, waiting 
 impatiently in a Cincinnati hotel, received a 
 long letter from Beamer Van Wye that made 
 him thoughtful enough. It gave an outline of 
 the scene in the stable-yard, Dulcie's decision, 
 and her strong expression on the divorce ques- 
 tion. It ended up with the news that Kentucky 
 Cupid would be his within a week and that Colo- 
 nel Buckman had sent his wife and Dulcie to 
 some springs in Virginia of which the lawyer 
 carelessly forgot to mention the name.
 
 CHAPTER NINE 
 
 HERE'S TO THE PANG THAT PINCHES 
 
 I SAW no reason why I should not return," 
 laughed LuciantoBeamerVanWyethenext 
 night on the terrace; "this is the only home I 
 possess, and Cincinnati is hotter than the 
 hottest at this season. I might have gone to Vir- 
 ginia, it is true, but this seemed to me the best 
 place on earth. I do not like to see you look so 
 grave over it." 
 
 "There is so much in the future," replied the 
 lawyer, " and we all feel as if we were walking 
 on eggshells. Glen Farm should be sold and 
 DeWitt is constantly in company with Mulvi- 
 hill and Graham, as rascally a pair of petti- 
 foggers as you could find. DeWitt is drinking, 
 also, and he vows vengeance on every one con- 
 nected with the affair in every Middleport and 
 Grafton saloon. I hope he will not hear of your 
 return or know that you have purchased Ken- 
 
 120
 
 CHAPTER NINE 121 
 
 tucky Cupid. He declares that the horse is his 
 and not Dulcie's and he also claims one-third his 
 price of Glen Farm if sold." 
 
 " I shall send the horse up to Churchill Downs 
 at once," said Lucian a little stiffly. "How is the 
 Colonel ? " 
 
 " He misses Mrs. Buckman every hour. They 
 are strangely congenial, you know. I am sure 
 that she is as lonesome as he is but conscien- 
 tiously goes the rounds each day and drinks 
 sixteen glasses of spring water. They say Mrs. 
 DeWitt is better." 
 
 In the perfumed darkness of the rose terrace 
 Lucian Beardsley sat a long time after the law- 
 yer left him. He had been anxious to return to 
 Paradise, but now it seemed strangely empty 
 to him. Or was the emptiness, the loneliness in 
 his own heart ? He half wished he had not come 
 to Kentucky, that he had never heard of Ken- 
 tucky Cupid and his fair owner. But Dulcie, 
 poor Dulcie, whose evil days were at hand - 
 who else would be her champion if he failed her ? 
 
 He tried to picture her, pale and sedate under 
 Mrs. Buckman's wing at one of the Virginia 
 springs where Southern people congregate dur- 
 ing the summer months. He wondered if she 
 would not look at the gaiety of the young with 
 longing eyes. To his advanced ideas her mar- 
 riage might be no bar to enjoyment, but he
 
 m THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 doubted Mrs. Buckman's acquiescence in such 
 ideas and felt much comforted. He wondered 
 if Dulcie would be sought at all among the 
 happier women. She was not exactly beautiful, 
 but that subtle and intangible charm of hers 
 would never pass unnoticed by men. 
 
 His doubts on this point was set at rest by 
 a letter that the Colonel showed him. He was 
 very lonesome and heartily glad to see Lucian 
 or any one. He read from his wife's last letter: 
 
 " Dulcie is getting along finely now, and I never 
 saw any one improve as she is doing. She has 
 a great deal of attention shown her for no one 
 knows her sad story. I would come home next 
 week if it was not for her. We never mention any 
 unpleasant happenings of the past. I am anxious 
 to be at home and, if you think it wise, I will 
 return and leave her with Mrs. Doctor Hampton 
 of Louisville, who will remain here a month 
 longer. Dulcie has no inclination to be gay. 
 People think she is a widow and we never say 
 anything. I am going to send her a few things 
 from Lexington if her affairs are so you can 
 get her a little money." 
 
 " I am going to write and tell her to stay and 
 have out her fling," chuckled the Colonel. "Mrs. 
 Doctor Hampton is as careful as Sudie herself, 
 and I really don't want Dulcie to come home. 
 I don't know how to spare her the money out
 
 CHAPTER NINE izj 
 
 of the mix up her affairs are in, but I guess I'll 
 have to make it somehow." 
 
 "I'll put another hundred on to Kentucky 
 Cupid if you will send it right up to my cousin," 
 proposed Lucian coolly. " I can not fix it up in 
 any other way, I suppose." 
 
 "The horse is worth the money," said the 
 Colonel, "so I'll go you. She can stay up there 
 two weeks more and have some clothes on that. 
 She'll come back well and strong and see every- 
 thing in its true light. She won't be sick and 
 morbid." 
 
 Beamer Van Wye took a different view of the 
 delay. 
 
 "You remember what I told you about Mrs. 
 DeWitt. If I am not mistaken it will only make 
 her the more determined to live a different life. 
 There is a great deal more to her than has ever 
 shown itself." 
 
 Soon Mrs. Buckman returned from Virginia, 
 herself improved in health and with glowing 
 accounts of Dulcie's recovery and brightness, 
 her docility and better spirits. Kentucky Cupid 
 was still at Broad Acres stables, as he had had 
 a slight touch of a prevalent equine complaint 
 and Colonel Buckman wanted to give him his 
 personal attention. He was later to go to Louis- 
 ville and into a trainer's hands. 
 
 The two weeks sped by. It was sultry August
 
 124 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 weather when Dulcie returned from Virginia. 
 Events seemed at a standstill until her return. 
 The Colonel and his wife were in wait for her 
 at the railroad station when the train came in. 
 They noted, not without some concern, that Dr. 
 DeWitt was also there with his old buggy and 
 his brown mare. The Colonel grasped his heavy 
 whip firmly and stood upon the platform where 
 he expected the train to pull in and Dulcie to 
 alight. 
 
 It went on much farther, however, and when 
 the Colonel first saw Dulcie she was in the 
 clutches of her husband's strong fingers. As 
 he approached with hasty footsteps he saw 
 how beautiful returning health had made her. 
 She was pale, but her lips were firm and her 
 cheek full. 
 
 "I will not go with you," she said quietly 
 as the Colonel approached. 
 
 "You must, you are my wife," declared the 
 doctor. "Come along, I have the law on my 
 side. I can make you and no one can interfere 
 with me." 
 
 She endeavoured to wrench her arm loose 
 from his grasp. 
 
 "I will not go. I am going to Broad Acres 
 with Colonel Buckman." 
 
 "You are going to Glen Farm where you be- 
 long. If you go to Colonel Buckman's house
 
 CHAPTER NINE 125 
 
 I'll have him in court on a writ to-morrow morn- 
 ing." 
 
 The doctor could say no more, for the Colonel's 
 strong arm lifted him quite off the platform and 
 tossed him across the track. At that moment 
 Lucian Beardsley, followed by Summers and 
 Beamer Van Wye, came rushing down the plat- 
 form. 
 
 The doctor arose from mud and cinders with 
 an ashen face. Lucian seized Dulcie and hur- 
 ried her off to the carriage, but her husband 
 shouted after her wildly: 
 
 "Just wait until to-morrow and you are drag- 
 ged into court, Madam." 
 
 Dulcie was still very pale but walked proudly 
 through the gathering crowd. 
 
 "Can he do it ?" she asked Beamer Van Wye. 
 
 "He may be able to annoy you by some pro- 
 cedure," he said reluctantly. 
 
 Mrs. Buckman was shedding tears of mortifi- 
 cation and despair. 
 
 "What disgrace! What a terrible exposure 
 again!" she lamented as Lucian placed Dulcie 
 in the carriage. "It has spoiled all our pleasure 
 in your return. I do wonder if this is to be kept 
 up." 
 
 Dulcie's colour rose and she glanced at her 
 kinsman with a proud scorn that he noted with 
 pain.
 
 126 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "It cannot be allowed to last," he said decid- 
 edly; "steps must be taken for my cousin's pro- 
 tection, you can see. " 
 
 "I am sure I do not know what they will be," 
 Mrs. Buckman said. 
 
 The Colonel came up much flustered and very 
 angry. 
 
 " I suppose Mulvihill is at the bottom of this 
 move. I wish we had kept you away a while 
 longer, Dulcie. He will probably have me arrest- 
 ed to-morrow." 
 
 " May I ride out with you, Colonel ? " asked 
 the younger man. " Either Mr. Van Wye or my- 
 self should go. " 
 
 "We will have Beamer," said Mrs. Buckman, 
 as coldly as before; "we can send him home later 
 on." 
 
 Lucian bowed. His eyes met Dulcie's. Surely 
 her lips formed one word, but he could not be sure 
 of it. Was it the word " to-night, " and what could 
 "to-night" mean? He could not ask, he could 
 only surmise. He went home racked with doubts 
 and fears. 
 
 After his dinner he bade Summers have his 
 fleetest saddle-horse brought and he rode to the 
 village to see Beamer Van Wye. Shortly after twi- 
 light the Colonel's own man drove the lawyer in 
 and Lucian followed him most anxiously into the 
 dusty little office.
 
 CHAPTER NINE 1*7 
 
 " Mrs. Buckman is much worried and offend- 
 ed, " said the lawyer, " and with good reason. I do 
 not see but that Mrs. DeWitt must leave Grafton 
 at least for a time. " 
 
 "Where will she go?" grieved Lucian; "any- 
 where else it would be worse, for no one knows 
 her real troubles. " 
 
 "She must 'he perdu' somewhere, I suppose, 
 or go far away. DeWitt will never let her alone 
 about here." 
 
 "How about Paradise?" asked Lucian. "I 
 will establish her there and never set foot within 
 its doors. " 
 
 "He could enter," said Van Wye, "and it 
 would make a fine story. She is really in a sad 
 dilemma. Mrs. Buckman has been most patient 
 until now." 
 
 There seemed little more to say, and Lucian 
 turned away. As he passed out of the gate toward 
 the horse-block the lawyer came out to the door. 
 
 " By the way, Mrs. DeWitt said for me to tell 
 you not to forget a message she gave you. I do not 
 know what she meant, as she hurried out after I 
 was in the buggy. Probably you know it." 
 
 "All right," ventured Lucian. He walked his 
 horse through Grafton, but once in the country 
 he rode off at a gallop; his thoughts were busy 
 enough. 
 
 To-night ? Surely she had formed those words
 
 128 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 as he looked at her. He would later go on to 
 Broad Acres, ostensibly to see his horse. It was 
 nearly eleven o'clock when he tied Fire Fly out- 
 side the gate and stole through the cedars and the 
 shadows toward the stables. Suddenly he deter- 
 mined to approach the screened porch. Yes, 
 Dulcie was there, pressed against the netting. 
 
 " Cousin, " she breathed, opening the door a 
 little, " I hope you understand. " 
 
 "What is it? I am here." 
 
 " Go back and wait for me near the gate. Take 
 this, please." 
 
 She thrust forth a bundle of clothing, then dis- 
 appeared. He could do nothing but retrace his 
 steps and wait within the gate where he had left 
 his horse, in a fever of impatience. When she did 
 come she was with him before he knew it. She 
 had muffled a horse's feet to come over the sward 
 silently. The horse she had was one of the best 
 and fleetest in the Colonel's stables. 
 
 They went quite half a mile in silence, then 
 more slowly in response to her gesture. He fol- 
 lowed her into an out-of-the-way lane and they 
 stopped. 
 
 "Where are you going, Dulcie, and what are 
 you going to do ? " 
 
 " I am going to hide away, cousin. " 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 She faintly smiled in the starlight.
 
 CHAPTER NINE 109 
 
 " Don't you know where there is a little woman 
 with much sense and a heart of goodness ? I am 
 going there to Kitty Manifold. It is a long, 
 lonely ride through the woods at night, but you 
 will go with me, and return the Colonel's horse. 
 Will you do this, cousin ?" 
 
 She stroked the horse's mane very gently while 
 he foamed and curvetted. Lucian's heart leaped 
 out to her in pride and pity. 
 
 "I will, Dulcie," he replied, quite as softly as 
 she had spoken. "I will certainly go with you if 
 you wish it. "
 
 CHAPTER TEN 
 
 PRISONER IN A RED ROSE CHAIN 
 
 SILENTLY the man and the woman rode 
 through a grassy lane that was now dark 
 enough, for the moon had not yet risen. 
 The night was sultry, while, in the eastern hori- 
 zon, there were coming and going constant flashes 
 of heat lightning. Lucian Beardsley's heart beat 
 fast with excitement. He felt all the mad folly of 
 the hour, but he would not forego one moment of 
 it for the pleasure it gave him to be with Dulcie 
 alone. 
 
 It seemed, after she lost all fear of pursuit, that 
 Dulcie showed a spirit he had never attributed to 
 her. Her stay among strangers had bred health- 
 fulness of mind. She looked at matters in a 
 straightforward and courageous fashion. She 
 spoke to Lucian of stumbling places in the lane, 
 and promised that they would soon find, for a 
 time at least, broader and smoother roads. He 
 
 130
 
 CHAPTER TEN 131 
 
 felt that she was avoiding speech of all that was 
 in her heart, those things of which both longed to 
 talk but knew not how to approach. 
 
 "This is not the way the Colonel and I went to 
 or came from the Manifold farm," said Lucian 
 at last. 
 
 "A much more unfrequented way. I cannot 
 risk meeting any one who knows either of us. It 
 would not be wise. " 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 " But, cousin, who can blame me ? The Col- 
 onel expects to be arrested to-morrow for his 
 assault on" here she hesitated "on Dr. 
 DeWitt." 
 
 "I should not be surprised," returned Lucian 
 tersely, "not at anything." 
 
 "I could be compelled to go as a witness. 
 Anything public is dreadful don't you see ? I 
 must get away. And and I was afraid to go 
 alone. " 
 
 Lucian's very temples throbbed. It seemed a 
 simple thing to advise her, to talk to her, to tell 
 her that there never could be any peace on a half- 
 way ground. It seemed a cowardly thing not to 
 persuade her to be free, to at once break the 
 chains that bound her, and yet and yet he 
 had promised Beamer Van Wye. 
 
 " I thought you would surely talk to me, cous- 
 in," she said again and rather lightly, "that you
 
 1 3 z THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 would keep me from sorrowful thought per- 
 haps advise me. I need advice, I need friends 
 now, if ever. Do not think I am not deeply 
 troubled. " 
 
 "My friendship shall not fail you," he replied; 
 "you must remember that, first of all, I hold you 
 as my kinswoman." 
 
 "Then tell me just what to do," she cried out 
 impetuously. "I must certainly help myself in 
 some way, for the Colonel says there will not be 
 much money left me and I never was rich." 
 
 "I don't think that is the first thing," said Lu- 
 cian, leaning over in the darkness to unfasten a 
 gate which barred their way. "It's the situation 
 generally, Dulcie." 
 
 She did not reply until they were riding more 
 swiftly along the smooth pike. Finally there came 
 to him a faint little exclamation of hers: 
 
 "O, I am so afraid!" 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 "Of meeting some one. It would never do, 
 would it ? " 
 
 "I am afraid not. The moon is rising. How 
 long must we stay on this open road ?" 
 
 "For a half mile more. I am sure I ought not 
 to have asked you to come. Don't you think so, 
 cousin ? " 
 
 Lucian pulled himself together and took hold 
 upon her bridle.
 
 CHAPTER TEN 133 
 
 "Whatever is done, is done. I never regret an 
 action past. Now for a dash, for there is a 
 buggy coming. Do not give any one time to see 
 who you are. " 
 
 In three minutes they stopped, breathless, in 
 the darkness of another lane. Beyond could be 
 heard the steady ripple of a river over a stony 
 turn, and, far away, the buggy wheels going on- 
 ward. 
 
 "The ford," he whispered with a sudden 
 thought. " Dare you risk it ? Dare you cross 
 it?" 
 
 She smiled and patted the neck of her horse 
 proudly. 
 
 " I have gone over that more than once when 
 the water was high. Kentucky women are rarely 
 afraid, never of a horse, only of people they 
 do not understand or who deceive them. Go 
 on!" 
 
 They passed swiftly along the lane where high 
 bushes on either side held up white, starry blos- 
 soms. Between the trees, far away, a full, reddish 
 moon came up slowly. Dulcie's hat, fastened by 
 a strip of elastic, had fallen back. Her bare 
 throat was as white as milk. Suddenly Lucian re- 
 alized all her womanly beauty. The terrible im- 
 pulse of savagery awoke in him anew, to have, to 
 hold, to tear from any who came to interfere, 
 this one woman of all in the world. The dream
 
 ij 4 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 had come to him late enough, but he had a man's 
 intense appreciation of all it meant and he held 
 to its sweetness. 
 
 "Dulcie!" he cried out, stopping short. 
 
 She started at his new tone. 
 
 But before the rash words he was about to 
 speak came from his lips a sentence spoke itself 
 out of the darkness: 
 
 " Do you want to ruin her future for a whim ?" 
 
 "Who spoke, Dulcie ?" he said hoarsely, "who 
 spoke?" 
 
 "No one. Indeed, no one. What was it ?" she 
 said, trembling sorely. "Who was it ?" 
 
 But the man was himself again, in his own 
 strong grasp. He saw that she was much shaken 
 by his question. 
 
 "I merely imagined a voice. We are both nerv- 
 ous. Now for the ford. Be careful watch the 
 horse. You are sure you know the right trees on 
 the bank?" 
 
 She pushed ahead and, after swimming the 
 horses for a short distance, they safely reached 
 the pebbly bank. Lucian regarded Dulcie's 
 horsemanship with admiring eyes as she shook 
 out her upfolded skirt. 
 
 "We have not far to go now," she said a few 
 moments later. "And you really must leave me 
 at the barn lot. I will wait in the porch until 
 morning and by that time you will be back in
 
 CHAPTER TEN 135 
 
 Grafton if you will ride swiftly. You can keep to 
 the high roads now." 
 
 He could not object. 
 
 "Am I to see you or to hear from you ?" 
 
 She reflected a little while. 
 
 "Send Mr. Van Wye to see me the day after 
 to-morrow," she finally announced, "and by that 
 time I will have made up my mind. " 
 
 She evidently expected him to ask a question, 
 but he dared not. He lifted her down at the barn- 
 yard gate and stood facing her, standing with the 
 two bridles over his arm and quite close. 
 
 "I wish I knew that you were really safe," he 
 said, "safe forever from any harm." 
 
 She laughed out but mirthlessly. He felt that 
 she was disappointed in him, that she had hoped 
 for positive advice from him. It was her nature 
 to lean, to ask, to be assured, and he was so sure, 
 so sure what ought to be done without any fur- 
 ther scruples. What held him back from bidding 
 her free herself, ensure her property and safety ? 
 Something intangible, terribly resistless, that 
 fairly thundered in his ears the stern command, 
 "Speak not!" 
 
 " I feel that I have been silent cold, perhaps, 
 Dulcie," he said at last and not very steadily 
 after his struggle. " I am so very sorry for you, 
 but you are a woman, and some things you must 
 decide for yourself. One thing for good-night:
 
 136 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 Send me word of anything I can do for you by 
 Van Wye that's all. I will watch you to the 
 porch. Good-night! I send my compliments to 
 Mistress Kitty. Good-night!" 
 
 His return was a swift, silent run through the 
 glorious moonlight. It wanted but a half hour of 
 the summer dawn when Lucian led the Colonel's 
 horse into the stable. He woke up the groom who 
 had care of Cupid and bade him attend the Colo- 
 nel's weary horse, feeing him well for secrecy. 
 As he turned away on his own black a figure 
 darkened the door. It was the Colonel with his 
 whip in his hand. He had evidently been waiting. 
 The two men walked away a few steps, then the 
 Colonel broke out hoarsely: 
 
 "Where did you take her?" 
 
 Lucian's blood surged in hot waves in his 
 veins. He realized his position in a second. Dul- 
 cie had demanded a fearful price of him for the 
 privilege of kinship. He tried to speak quietly: 
 
 " Colonel, she is in hiding to save herself and 
 you. She does not want you, not any one to 
 know, until later on. " 
 
 "Is she at Paradise ?" 
 
 "You mistake us both. She is with friends." 
 
 "I saw her go. I mistrusted you from the first. 
 Why did you coax her away ? I would have taken 
 her any place. Do you think it was right, you 
 scoundrel and devil!"
 
 CHAPTER TEN 137 
 
 Lucian flushed in the darkness and his teeth 
 met with a sharp click. 
 
 "Colonel, I do not." 
 
 "Do you know what you've done? My wife 
 will never have her here again. It is all your fault. 
 She was the meekest, the most uncomplaining 
 creature, and but for you she would have finally 
 returned to her home." 
 
 The hearer stood immovable, silent, his mouth 
 sternly set. Something in his attitude struck like 
 ice to the Colonel's heart was he a man or was 
 he a brilliant, heartless demon who would toss 
 aside this woman he had hidden away as if she 
 was a toy ? He crept quite close to Lucian and 
 whispered fearfully: 
 
 " But you'll marry her, Beardsley, promise me 
 that. She is my old friend's little girl and she has 
 been very near to us. When all's over you'll 
 marry her, won't you ? Or she will be lost. " 
 
 A surging heat and anger tingled in Lucian 
 Beardsley, a singing sound in his ears. He could 
 have struck the Kentuckian where he stood for 
 his cruel words. Once more he held himself well 
 in leash and, looking into the red, quivering face, 
 he said with a tired tolerance: 
 
 " I will certainly marry her if she is ever free, 
 and is willing, Colonel ; for it may be she will not 
 have it, you know. " 
 
 Then he turned down the avenue while the
 
 138 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 waking birds chirped. A sick sensation, nearer 
 akin to disgust of life than he had ever before 
 experienced, took hold on him. He rode slowly 
 homeward wondering how it fared with Dulcie 
 and whether there could be anything more com- 
 plex than his present relations with his little 
 world.
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 MEN'S VOWS ARE WOMEN'S TRAITORS 
 
 ON the afternoon after the night ride 
 Dulcinea DeWitt sat upon the broad 
 upper gallery of the Manifold farm- 
 house with some mending in her fingers and the 
 mistress of the house for a companion. Their 
 position commanded a view of the entrance lane 
 and the grass plot below, where Aunt Reba sat 
 with infant Eustace, the centre of an admiring 
 group of small negro children. The two women 
 were deep in conversation and Kitty had a 
 heightened colour. 
 
 " Fm sure it was mighty kind of Mr. Beardsley 
 to say such a fine thing of me, Dulcie DeWitt, 
 but law! how can I tell what is the best thing 
 for you to do ? " 
 
 "What would you do in my place?" asked 
 Dulcie absently. Her thoughts were evidently far 
 away. 
 
 139
 
 140 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "O my," cried Kitty May, "I couldn't tell. If 
 Eustace's pa ever did act badly well, I just 
 can't say what I'd do. Something pretty strong, 
 surely. I do feel so sorry for you, and now don't 
 you cry, Dulcie. " 
 
 "It will not hurt me," quivered Dulcie, 
 "there have been times when I could not cry; 
 they were the worst times. You never can tell 
 what it is to see a little baby die and to feel that it 
 was its father's fault. " 
 
 "My poor dearest," soothed Kitty May, "I 
 cannot imagine life without Eustace not at all. 
 But suppose you had them now ? it would be 
 worse. You just could not leave that man. " 
 
 "I would have had to leave long ago," sighed 
 Dulcie, "for no innocent child should be in such 
 a life as I have led. Why, even the negro wo- 
 men would not have a child about our house. 
 You see you cannot imagine how things were, 
 Kitty May." 
 
 The little woman nodded her head emphatic- 
 ally. She looked comfortable in a gown of ample 
 dimensions, and watched the group below in a 
 contented assurance. 
 
 "Of course we've heard heaps o' things," she 
 ventured slowly, "but I always calculate that 
 gossip is only about one grain truth and the rest 
 is hatefulness. Peter and I never did feel that 
 your neighbours over there ought to have stood so
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 141 
 
 much wickedness, but law! folks do hate to get 
 stirred up and interfere. It isn't that they believe 
 each person's got particular rights, either. It is 
 that it is easier not to interfere and that's the truth. 
 It is lots o' trouble to be your brother's helper or 
 keeper, isn't it ? Peter never has had any grudge 
 against you, but Nancy was set in her ways. She's 
 gone now and we take it kindly that you came 
 here and you just stay if you want to. If I ring 
 that bell there it won't take more'n a few minutes 
 for fifteen niggers to come a runnin', and Peter 
 won't stand any nonsense, not if he does look 
 easy. " 
 
 Dulcie's face was very grave. 
 
 "I know. It is very kind but I really think I 
 had better leave Grafton. It seems like I'll have 
 to go. I don't want to go. I have no friends 
 other places, but the doctor will never let me 
 alone. " 
 
 "I hope the doctor won't come here," said 
 Kitty May earnestly, "because Peter has really 
 got a most curious temper with any real mean 
 folks." 
 
 "That and many other reasons make 
 me feel that I must go. It has brought trouble on 
 Colonel Buckman, who defended me. It will al- 
 ways bring trouble wherever I go unless I hide 
 away. I think I will tell my distant cousin, Mr. 
 Beardsley, and maybe he can arrange something
 
 14* THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 for me in Texas or in California. He has travelled 
 about a great deal." 
 
 "It does seem to me," cried Kitty May, "that 
 you haven't done anything wrong but are really 
 running away just as if you had. I wouldn't run 
 away. I would stay here and fight it out. " 
 
 Dulcie looked at her keenly. 
 
 "How can I?" 
 
 " I would have my property rights if I had to 
 get a divorce.'* 
 
 Dulcie grew very pale. 
 
 " You know you would have no trouble getting 
 it," went on Kitty, " and Peter says if you are not 
 going to live with Dr. DeWitt it is the best thing 
 to do to avoid scandals. Doctor DeWitt is a 
 beast every negro knows it and that's the 
 truth." 
 
 Dulcie blushed with shame and mortifica- 
 tion. 
 
 "I am going away," she gasped, "going so far 
 he can never find me. I feel all that. " 
 
 "But he will follow you," asserted Kitty most 
 decidedly; "you don't understand men as well as 
 I do. The best o' them sort o' feels, when he gets 
 a marriage license, that he is getting a clutch on 
 to something he can treat as he pleases and some- 
 times work out his salvation on. Sometimes the 
 woman can handle him right and make her own 
 way smooth, but, in other cases, she is real help-
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 143 
 
 less, like you, to oppose him in his born cussed- 
 ness, as Peter calls it. Dr. DeWitt thinks he owns 
 you, soul and body, and would follow you to 
 California or South America if he got a hint as to 
 where you were. And, Dulcie," here Kitty May 
 lowered her voice, "such terrible things do hap- 
 pen. We read about them in the papers. My 
 blood just runs cold sometimes." 
 
 Kitty May was an inveterate reader of news- 
 papers and for that reason knew the outside 
 world far better than her hearer. 
 
 "And as for your cousin, Mr. Beardsley, about 
 the finest man I ever saw, Dulcie, you can't let 
 him help you much. Folks will talk in a minute 
 as long as you ain't free. Yes, you needn't get so 
 red. I'm not saying a word against him or you. It 
 is just the fact that you are in such a bad fix that 
 makes it hard for him to help you. " 
 
 "But he seems to want to, and he is so 
 strong!" 
 
 " Strong as a lion, it will do him no good if talk 
 gets started about you all. He may not care - 
 some men don't but law! I got a better opin- 
 ion of him, I have." 
 
 Dulcie threw the sewing down and her eyes 
 were once more stormy and wet. 
 
 "I see, I see. I am all alone. I have to stand 
 alone as I have done all these years and kept 
 still, too, and stood everything and anything.
 
 144 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 Seems like everything is bound to drive me back, 
 but I won't go I'll go to the river first." 
 
 "Now don't you feel so badly over what I've 
 said." 
 
 "It's true enough. It's been in me all the time. 
 I have suffered for years fighting for an idea, 
 Kitty May. I believed that divorce was wrong. 
 But it has come to that pass that life at Glen 
 Farm is more wicked than divorce. Divorce is 
 wicked, separation will not 'love and cherish' 
 Doctor DeWitt as I promised but life at Glen 
 Farm is something right out of hell. Don't start! 
 You can never know. I would not tell you. It is 
 getting worse every day. Now out of three wick- 
 ednesses I've got to choose one. When all ways 
 are wicked, which way shall I go ?" 
 
 Kitty May was pale but she set her lips. 
 
 "Dulcie DeWitt, there's lots more to you than 
 we all knew about. You are hunting daylight in a 
 nasty cellar, poor dear. I never knew, nor 
 Peter, either, that you had any such feelings. 
 Now, when it comes to doing right and wrong, 
 there's two sides to the question and I can an- 
 swer you straight out. You asked me a while back 
 if I was in your fix what I would do. I'll tell you 
 now, since you asked me. Don't you be dragged 
 clear to the earth by that man as he has dragged 
 others. I wouldn't have one scruple about a di- 
 vorce, not I, in your fix. Why, Dulcie, if you go by
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 145 
 
 Bible reasons that man has broken his contract 
 with you and smashed every commandment. And 
 the Bible gives one reason for divorce if you want 
 it straight out. " 
 
 "O!" cried Dulcie. The women gazed at each 
 other, trembling yet fascinated. 
 
 "It takes a real friendly person to tell the 
 meanest things to one," blustered Kitty May, 
 "and since I'm sure you don't know, I'll set your 
 poor mind at rest. I owe Doctor DeWitt a 
 grudge and I'm going to pay it up in his own 
 coin. I'll show you a Bible reason or two right on 
 our side of the river. Aunt Reba!" she called over 
 the rail, "have Silver Wings put into the light 
 buggy." 
 
 "Where are we going, Kitty May?" gasped 
 Dulcie. 
 
 "I won't tell you now, but you have got to 
 have your mind eased up. A pity the Colonel 
 never looked into a few things, but law! men 
 are men the world over. It is all right until the 
 thing is found out on one, then the other men 
 say how foolish all that is. I know them real 
 well." 
 
 Four miles up the river bank Kitty May drove 
 Dulcie. It was a wild and lonesome way. Beyond 
 the roadway were hills and hollows, at times a bit 
 of field and only narrow lanes and bridle paths 
 to lead across and up to the farms on the high-
 
 146 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 lands. A picturesque road it was, lovely and 
 tangled in summer growth and bloom and with 
 the bright and slipping river always to the right 
 hand shining with many curves and turns, with 
 creeks coming down the hollows and emptying 
 gently into the larger and quieter streams. 
 
 The houses below the hills were mere cabins 
 and huts. Opposite one of them Kitty May drew 
 up. 
 
 "Dulcie," she said gently, "I'm going to 
 make you feel mighty bad, but don't you show 
 it. I want you to see this place and go into the 
 house. " 
 
 She drove over the edge of a field into the very 
 dooryard. A woman appeared with several small 
 children clinging to her skirts. She was still young, 
 and had once been beautiful and she was nearly 
 white; indeed, might have passed for a white wo- 
 man on the streets of a Northern city. She was 
 bareheaded and barefooted and the children were 
 as little clothed as possible. 
 
 "Good-morning, Delia. Have you a setting of 
 Buff Cochins ? It is a little late for setting but 
 we'll try it. " 
 
 The woman looked at her with radiant eyes. 
 
 " Lawd, Mis' Kitty, it air good foah sore eyes 
 ter see you. How's your paw ? Run out in the 
 wood, Leroy, and see erbout them nestes in thet 
 holler oak. Thar orter be some aigs thar. "
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 147 
 
 A slim boy scudded off on the instant, eager to 
 be back. 
 
 "How is your crippled boy, Delia?" asked 
 Kitty May. " I hope you give him good care. " 
 
 The woman laughed out. 
 
 " He air allers a heap better off than any one 
 of us. 'Pears laike he allers comes out top o' the 
 heap. Light an' see 'im, Miss Kitty. He don't 
 offen see folks." 
 
 Kitty May accepted the invitation and, to Dul- 
 cie's surprise, whispered: 
 
 " I want you to go inside. " 
 
 The cabin had three good-sized rooms, one 
 careless and dirty enough, the others fairly fur- 
 nished. There was a strange familiarity about 
 some of the things that at first puzzled Dulcie. 
 Then she recognized a plaid blanket that had 
 once been her father's and her heart stood still. 
 It was thrown over the knees of a distorted crip- 
 ple, a boy that was almost a monster in his de- 
 formity and his expression of cunning and malice. 
 His hair was brown, his eyes blue and his skin 
 strangely dusky and repulsive indeed. Yet Dulcie 
 saw a terrible likeness. 
 
 "How do you do, Felix?" said Kitty May 
 kindly; "are you growing stronger ?" 
 
 The boy glared at her with strange, vague eyes. 
 
 " I want my pa, " he said hoarsely, " I want my 
 pa!"
 
 148 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "Heah's the nice ladies," said his mother 
 apologetically; "this hyah's a lady I uster play 
 wid a long spell ago. " 
 
 "Whar war that?" queruously complained 
 the boy; "I never heered o' that. Whar war it ?" 
 
 "Up on them hills," was the reply, with a 
 wave of the hand. 
 
 The boy refused to talk to the strangers, al- 
 though his eyes followed every movement. Dul- 
 cie's eyes also roamed and saw many things from 
 Glen Farm. 
 
 "How many children have you?" she asked 
 the woman stiffly enough, " there seems to be a 
 great many and you so young. " 
 
 "I hev seven, ma'am," returned Delia; "they 
 all's lots o' work an' bother, tuh, but whut's a 
 woman tuh do ? I jes' can't keep 'em cleaned up 
 none." 
 
 The setting of eggs came in and Kitty May was 
 ready to go. As a farewell Dulcie gazed at the 
 cripple boy earnestly. He flung a savage curse at 
 her. 
 
 Half a mile farther to a turn and here Kitty 
 May threw the "setting" into the bushes. 
 
 "Well, Dulcie?" 
 
 "How far is this from Glen Farm ?" 
 
 "It is a mile and a half through your bit of 
 woodland right over the river. He always has a 
 boat there. "
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 149 
 
 "Those wretched children!" 
 
 "The wretched woman, too! Dulcie, she was 
 brought up on my father's farm and her mother 
 was almost white. Delia was real smart and 
 bright, but he got hold of her long before he mar- 
 ried you and she is now what you see. I could 
 shoot him when I remember all this. Well,Dulcie, 
 there are shorely seven Bible reasons, you see, 
 for your future deliverance. You can go on 
 now. " 
 
 Dulcie sat like a woman of stone. In her heart 
 was a wild anger and resentment, felt at her own 
 blindness in the past rather than at Doctor 
 DeWitt. The idea of his infidelity was no new 
 one, but she had tried not to know the actual 
 truths because she did not really care. She 
 burned with rage to think that she had not 
 long ago had the spirit and wish to know the 
 truth. 
 
 The next morning Dulcie came down to the 
 family breakfast in her black riding dress, and 
 when Maria had gone out into the kitchen for 
 more coffee, she said in a firm voice: 
 
 " Peter and Kitty, I have made up my mind to 
 go right back to Grafton." 
 
 Both stared at her tone and expression. 
 
 "I will go back this morning and will try to 
 have my affairs arranged. It is because of what 
 Kitty said yesterday to me that I had not done
 
 150 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 anything of which to be ashamed and it was not 
 for me to run away. " 
 
 "Good, good!" cried Kitty May, "but you 
 will not go to the farm." 
 
 "No, no," replied Dulcie, a look of great pain 
 on her face, " I will go to the hotel until I arrange 
 some place to live. There I will be independent 
 of any one, I hope. " 
 
 Kitty May clapped her hands. 
 
 "There's some sense and spirit in that. Glen 
 Farm is yours and you all must get out. Now I 
 tell you what it is, Peter. If she feels that way it 
 is the very best thing. We'll hitch up and go in 
 with her and stay all night. You can ride the 
 brown mare and take Davis and I'll take Aunt 
 Reba in the carriage for Eustace. We'll make it a 
 day and a night there." 
 
 Peter grumbled a little about leaving his colts, 
 but finally gave up to his small tyrant. So it came 
 about that, about twelve o'clock, the Manifold 
 carriage drew up in front of the Grafton House 
 and from it descended, with great dignity, plump 
 and pretty Mrs. Manifold, Aunt Reba, very 
 stately with the Manifold heir in her arms and, 
 to every one's surprise, Mrs. DeWitt in a riding 
 dress. 
 
 This sight took away the very breath of Colo- 
 nel Buckman and Beamer Van Wye, who were 
 standing at the bar when the carriage drove up.
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 15! 
 
 The ladies disappeared up the narrow front 
 stairway and the tall form of Peter Manifold 
 darkened the hall door. 
 
 "Howdy, Colonel, howdy, Van Wye! Hot day. 
 Yaas, a julep and three small ones up-stairs, 
 Linas," to the host; "the gentlemen '11 drink with 
 me, of course, Linas. " 
 
 There being no reason why the gentlemen 
 should not drink with him, they adjourned to a 
 round table. Peter stretched his legs as the host 
 wiped off the table and set down the glasses. 
 
 "Get another three ready," ordered the same 
 soft voice, "and, Linas, that big room next the 
 parlour up-stairs just do fix that up for the 
 ladies. We'll be here all night, anyhow. Davis will 
 see to the team. " 
 
 He sat down and smiled in his gentle way at 
 the two men. 
 
 "Wife wants a little outing so we came in with 
 my cousin Dulcie. You see we call her 'cousin' 
 because that box business has made away with all 
 those old differences, Colonel. Kitty May and 
 her get on splendidly." 
 
 "So she has been out to your house ?" ques- 
 tioned Van Wye slowly. 
 
 "That she has," said Peter; "we invited her to 
 make her home there until things settle down. 
 Maybe she will, maybe she will. " 
 
 It was a study to see Colonel Buckman's face.
 
 1 52 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "You all see, "drawled Peter, his mild gaze 
 on the men, "you all see she ought to be on the 
 ground jes' now to see after her business affairs 
 and she had the grit to say so. She said she cal- 
 kilated she'd get a room here at the hotel for a 
 few days until she knew what to do. " 
 
 "You never are telling about DulcieDeWitt ?" 
 scoffed the Colonel. 
 
 "I am," went on Peter with an incidental 
 wave to Linas, " and she seems right waked up. 
 She says she don't calkilate to make any trouble 
 to any one no more. But she's plumb welcome to 
 stay out with us. My niggers don't want nothing 
 bettah, gentlemen, than to bluff that crazy doc- 
 tor if he'd come around there. " 
 
 "Since I was made," pronounced the Colonel, 
 red and emphatic over his second glass, "I never 
 heard of such a thing Dulcie that spirited ? 
 Lord, Beamer, what do you make of that ?" 
 
 Beamer was gazing at the flies on the ceiling 
 and his glass was empty as he winked solemnly 
 at the Colonel. 
 
 Peter smiled his peculiar and sweet smile. 
 
 "Let's have another and join the ladies. You 
 all never saw our young gentleman yet, have you ? 
 He's a great fellow." 
 
 They presently filed up the oilcloth-covered 
 stairs into the upper parlour. The ladies were al- 
 ready in possession of the big room next and were
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 153 
 
 making themselves as much at home as possible. 
 Dulcie welcomed them quietly, but Beamer Van 
 Wye at once recognized the subtle defiance in her 
 manner. Kitty May was always the same, sturdy, 
 smiling, playful, showing off Eustace proudly, and 
 alert for every opportunity to assert her individ- 
 uality. It was sheer audacity that carried away 
 the embarrassment of the occasion. 
 
 "We all wanted Dulcie to stay out with us," 
 she chirped, "but it's too far for any business. 
 You surely will be able to save something from 
 the farm, you two men. It cannot be all gobbled 
 up unless the man who holds the mortgage is a 
 regular Jew." 
 
 Dulcie uttered a low exclamation, but, ere she 
 could speak, Colonel Buckman broke out: 
 
 "I now hold the principal one, Mistress 
 Kitty." 
 
 The little bungler skilfully covered her mis- 
 take by a cry of joy. 
 
 "Well, that does take a heap off my mind, 
 Colonel! I know you. You are square. Cheer up, 
 Dulcie, after that good news. Why, the Colonel is 
 just like a father to you." 
 
 " I tried to be, " grunted the Colonel, " but she 
 ran away to you. What can you all say to that ? " 
 
 "I was so afraid I would have to go into 
 court," said Dulcie sweetly. "I'm not so afraid 
 to-day. Did anything happen ?"
 
 154 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "No; he spent the day in one of his stupors 
 over at Middleport. " 
 
 "You'd better send Dulcie's things up here, 
 Colonel," went on Kitty May, bravely; "she's 
 going to put up here until something is arranged. 
 Dulcie does not want to feel that she is bringing 
 trouble on any one, and, at a hotel, things are all 
 open and above board. I do think it will look 
 queer for her to be here and that man in posses- 
 sion of Glen Farm that is her's and not his. Why 
 don't you oust him, gentlemen ?" 
 
 "He has some right there unless there is a legal 
 separation," said BeamerVan Wye, " and that is 
 the whole trouble. Mrs. DeWitt has announced 
 that she does not want a divorce. " 
 
 "She may change her mind," spoke up the 
 little woman sharply. "Do grant her that right 
 since she has been over the river, please. Dulcie 
 is bound to understand things now." 
 
 The three men stared at each other. Dulcie 
 grew even paler, but she spoke out: 
 
 " I must have a little more time to decide. I will 
 stay here for the present and would like my 
 clothes sent up from the farm, Colonel, if you can 
 manage it." 
 
 This broke the Colonel down completely. 
 
 "You must come home with me. I was furious 
 with Beardsley for taking you away, but I do not 
 believe that either of you meant any harm by go-
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 155 
 
 ing. I can trust you for your father's child, can't 
 I?" 
 
 Peter and Kitty Manifold glanced up quickly 
 and a shade crossed the latter's face. Dulcie 
 leaned forward in her chair. 
 
 "Didn't you go away on Thursday night with 
 Lucian Beardsley, your distant cousin?" 
 
 "I did," promptly replied Dulcie, for once 
 thoroughly roused, "but he did not take me 
 away. I sent for him to go with me to Peter's and 
 I think it was a big mistake of mine. I sent him 
 a message by Mr. Van Wye. He came out to see 
 what I wanted and I never told him what I was 
 going to do until I was on the horse and out in 
 the road. Then I asked him to take me to Kitty 
 May so that, if the doctor did act badly, I could 
 not be found." 
 
 Beamer Van Wye smiled in a weary and pecu- 
 liar fashion. 
 
 "What asses we were! The Colonel called your 
 courteous cousin a scoundrel that night and cut 
 him publicly yesterday. I shut my office door in 
 his face last night. " 
 
 "And he never said a word? "cried Peter, 
 rather harshly for him. 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 "Well you're a pack of fox hounds!" cried 
 Peter, his tones rising sharp and shrill, "and you 
 don't know a sneak from a gentleman. D
 
 156 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 your airs, you all! If you don't apologize to him, 
 I'll cut the whole string of you. Where is he ? I'm 
 going to find him and bring him right here. Yes, 
 I will, Dulcie. He's the best friend we all have got 
 in Grafton." 
 
 But Dulcie was lost in woe. She began to re- 
 alize how beset with danger was her path, that 
 every step she took seemed to involve others and 
 that friendliness to her was more than danger- 
 ous. The Colonel was thoroughly contrite and 
 humble. 
 
 " I guess I'm a fool, Peter, " he acknowledged 
 at once, "but appearances were deceitful. Who 
 ever thought Dulcie sent for him ? Dulcie, you 
 better be more discreet and not be getting us into 
 any more trouble than you have to, you poor 
 child." 
 
 At which Dulcie wept on his shoulder and they 
 made it up with more feeling on either side than 
 the spectators at all enjoyed. 
 
 Lucian was sitting alone that night on the ter- 
 race at Paradise. He was trying to comprehend 
 his exact situation and to decide on his next 
 move. That Colonel Buckman, Van Wye and all 
 Grafton should be his enemies did not at all sur- 
 prise him. He had, somehow, expected it. He felt 
 a little surprise at Van Wye. Money had never 
 failed to appeal to a lawyer before, but this man 
 was of a different metal. He felt sorry to have Van
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 157 
 
 Wye think him dishonourable, but what was it all 
 to having met poor Dulcie's wish ? 
 
 "I will ride out and see her to-morrow, and 
 if she wants a lawyer we will get one from Lex- 
 ington, one who will see her through. Van Wye 
 cannot act for her and for the Colonel also unless 
 we are all friends. " 
 
 In a pleasant reverie, not much disturbed by 
 the rudeness of the two men, Lucian spent several 
 hours in his steamer-chair on the terrace. Sum- 
 mers came up after dinner with a number of let- 
 ters and, just as the Virginian was about to enter 
 the house to read them, he heard lively voices at 
 the gate-way. Colonel Buckman, Van Wye and 
 Peter Manifold had spent the entire afternoon 
 together and were now in a most genial mood. It 
 made Lucian smile to see the three figures, linked 
 arms. The Colonel, short and stout, was in the 
 middle, the tall, stooped lawyer to the right, 
 Peter Manifold, lank and awkward, to the left. 
 Here, indeed, were three of Nature's noblemen, 
 of the truest Kentucky stamp and with the best 
 Kentucky whisky down their throats. 
 
 In strong contrast, Lucian Beardsley stood 
 erect, well knit, handsome, coolly waiting to hear 
 their business. 
 
 "Beardsley, old boy," began the Colonel, 
 " we've come up, Beam and I, to say we're damn 
 foolish. We know all about the other night. It was
 
 i S 8 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 the old trouble 'the woman tempted,' and thatsh 
 all right Beardsley, 'cause I been there myself. 
 She asked you to go and you never split on her. 
 You're all right, sir. Peter Manifold saysh I 
 must apologize and I have apologized now, Peter, 
 haven't I ? Wasn't that real handsome, eh ? An' 
 you needn't to marry her, Beardsley, 'cause she 
 ish going to please me and go right back to her 
 husband, ain't she, Beamer, eh ? She'll do it to 
 pleash me." 
 
 Peter, somewhat overome by his walk, sat 
 down upon the terrace step, but the lawyer stood 
 up unsteadily and then and there delivered the 
 following burst of eloquence: 
 
 "There are times in the memory of man when 
 the chords of his whole being are touched by 
 strong hands. Then sounds in his soul some 
 immortal strains that make him realize that he, 
 too, is akin to angels. That strong hand swept 
 my heart-strings to-day, Mr. Beardsley, when I 
 found that you had been silent when one little 
 sentence would have cleared you. I ask your 
 forgiveness, sir." 
 
 Lucian shook his outstretched hand with a gay 
 laugh. He did not wonder that there was a say- 
 ing in the county that to have Beamer Van Wye 
 win a jury case he must be "not too drunk, but 
 just drunk enough."
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 PLUCK FROM THE MEMORY A ROOTED SORROW 
 
 TO Colonel Buckman's profound astonish- 
 ment Dulcie would not promise him to 
 return to Broad Acres the next morning. 
 Peter, listening to her refusals, likened her to a 
 good colt who had the bit in her teeth and really 
 enjoyed it. The Colonel was quite himself. He 
 spent the night in Grafton and wanted Dulcie as 
 an excuse when he went home. As he could not 
 secure her, he lingered and, lingering, knew that 
 he was quite lost when he saw the Broad Acres 
 carriage drive up to the hotel and Mrs. Buckman 
 in her best array alight and make inquiries for 
 him of the obsequious Linas. The Manifold 
 party was sitting in the upper gallery, off the 
 parlour guest-room, and the Colonel had to " face 
 the music," as he phrased it, in the parlour. The 
 interview was not long. That all depended on the 
 Colonel's humour. A broad grin was on the black
 
 i6o THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 waiter's face when he presently appeared and 
 announced that Mrs. Buckman wished to see 
 Mrs. DeWitt in the parlour. 
 
 "I'm going right in with you," announced 
 Kitty. " I'm not afraid of madame, if the Colonel 
 is." 
 
 Dulcie squeezed her fat hand. 
 
 "You'd better keep out of it," growled Peter. 
 "Women shouldn't scrap." 
 
 "No, only men," retorted Kitty, who had on 
 a good gown and knew she looked very pretty, 
 " and a fine mess they do make of it and their 
 reconciliations. " 
 
 She so evidently referred to the revel of the 
 night before which had ended by Lucian driving 
 the three men to the hotel at midnight in the 
 dashing drag, that Peter hung his head. Dulcie 
 and Kitty May opened the big parlour door and 
 went in hand-in-hand. The Colonel was sitting 
 doggedly upright on a horsehair sofa, while Mrs. 
 Buckman was more upright in an arm-chair be- 
 fore him. She stared coldly at Kitty May, who 
 bubbled over at once. 
 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Buckman ? So glad to 
 see you!" 
 
 Mrs. Buckman drew in her lips, those lips that 
 could be so gentle when she chose. 
 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Manifold ? I wanted to 
 see Mrs. DeWitt. The Colonel won't go home
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 161 
 
 without you, Dulcie. Perhaps you can explain to 
 me first why you left our house last Thursday 
 night to seek shelter elsewhere." 
 
 "She did it to save me thought I'd be 
 arrested and she'd have to testify, that's 
 what!" growled the Colonel, "and I won't 
 leave her here, so I won't! I want her at Broad 
 Acres." 
 
 "That's true," broke in Kitty May. "She just 
 knew I'd gladly keep her and that she was safe at 
 our house." 
 
 "But you went away at night, Dulcie," said 
 the distressed lady, "and Colonel Buckman 
 never slept at all. I thought the horses were sick 
 when he stayed out, but it was because he was so 
 worried by your absence. How did you get over 
 to the Manifold place at night ? Did you go 
 alone?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Who went with you ? Dr. Snow told me yes- 
 terday he thought he passed you on the pike 
 about one o'clock. He said that a tall man was 
 with you." 
 
 Dulcie felt cold all over, but before she could 
 speak Kitty chimed in again. 
 
 " So there was. It was Peter. He got word and 
 went to meet her." 
 
 " Is that so, Dulcie ? Did you go expecting to 
 meet Mr. Peter Manifold ?"
 
 i6 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 Dulcie's head went up. 
 
 "Yes, I did, Aunt Sudie." It was her first de- 
 liberate lie. 
 
 Mrs. Buckman mused. 
 
 "Well, that isn't quite so bad. Is Mr. Mani- 
 fold about?" 
 
 "I'll fetch him," said his spouse, who, as 
 she went out, actually banged the door. There 
 would always be an enmity between her and Mrs. 
 Buckman for inexplicable reasons. Kitty May 
 went straight to her husband, who still looked 
 gloomy. 
 
 "Want to make up, Peter?" 
 
 He reached out his long arm. 
 
 "Well, I should say so." 
 
 "Go in and lie, Peter. Tell the old lady that 
 you went to meet Dulcie and brought her to your 
 home. You must." 
 
 " I'm no good at lying, Kit. It's bad doings. " 
 
 "What after all those trickv horse sales and 
 races ? Now, Peter!" 
 
 "What am I to say?" 
 
 "Tell Mrs. Buckman that you had word and 
 met Dulcie at Summer's Lane. Stick to it and 
 don't you say too much. Be like the Prince of 
 Wales, Peter, and lie like a gentleman. No one 
 will spoil it for you. " 
 
 Whereupon Peter marched into the parlour 
 and told Mrs. Buckman, in most freezing tones,
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 163 
 
 that Mrs. DeWitt could always count on him in 
 any time of trouble and that he had aided her and 
 would aid her all he could. 
 
 Mrs. Buckman had, strange to say, always 
 been a trifle in awe of Peter Manifold. His voice 
 was too gentle and his manner too easy for a nor- 
 mal human being, she thought. So she said to 
 Dulcie, who was red with the confusion of the 
 thing, that she hoped she would return to Broad 
 Acres for her own sake. 
 
 "You must really excuse me, Aunt Sudie," 
 returned Dulcie. "I will not go to any house just 
 now. I must stand alone for a time and not annoy 
 other people until everything is settled. I do 
 thank the dear old Colonel," with a sad smile, 
 " but I have decided. " 
 
 Kitty May smiled at the intense relief in Mrs. 
 Buckman's face, and she patted Dulcie on the 
 back as they left the pair to arrange the terms of 
 the Colonel's return. Kitty at once fell raptu- 
 rously upon Peter and declared his acting per- 
 fect. When Lucian Beardsley called after dinner 
 he found every one in a high good humour and 
 the Colonel carried away by his triumphant 
 spouse. 
 
 It was the first time that Lucian Beardsley had 
 ever had any opportunity to talk alone to his 
 cousin save on the night of the stolen ride. It is 
 true also that Kitty left Aunt Reba and the sleep-
 
 164 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 ing Eustace with her for propriety's sake while 
 she went out with Peter to make some purchases. 
 Aunt Reba was much like a chocolate figure- 
 head, unhearing and unseeing. Dulcie in her 
 black gown looked fair and calm. She held in her 
 hand a scarlet fan of Kitty May's that reflected a 
 glow upon her cheeks. 
 
 "You decided to return here, cousin." 
 
 "Yes, I want to save something of my prop- 
 erty, if I can. " 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " Perhaps, to go away. That, however, would 
 be cowardly, for I have done nothing wrong. " 
 
 He sat still, gazing at her. There was a stir in 
 his blood whenever he looked that way. She 
 noted his gaze with a look of surprise that 
 made him say quickly: 
 
 " I am glad you are so brave. But you cannot 
 stay here. I wish I could offer you Paradise but I 
 cannot, can I ?" 
 
 "No, you cannot. How long are you going to 
 stay in Grafton ?" 
 
 "It depends on you." 
 
 "On me?" 
 
 "Altogether." 
 
 She was much startled and looked vaguely 
 about for aid. 
 
 "Why on me?" 
 
 " Because when I see what you are going to do
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 165 
 
 with your life, I shall try to help you. I cannot 
 until you decide." 
 
 "Which way?" 
 
 He drew himself together. 
 
 "Any way either way. " 
 
 She walked to the railing and looked over into 
 the street. 
 
 " I do not see what you can do for me. I am lost. 
 I have lived my life and am dead. Every one of 
 my friends are very kind and tender to me, but 
 I am dead, cousin, dead and yet alive ! " 
 
 "Ah!" His self-control was very hard-pushed. 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "A fly near the child. Your friends are all very 
 anxious on your account, cousin. " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I wish you would decide, so that we would 
 know finally and decide what your future is to 
 be." 
 
 "Suppose," she said in a half whisper, "sup- 
 pose I desire to go far away. Will you help me ?" 
 
 "Ask me after after you decide," he said 
 quite as quietly. " I really must not influence you, 
 Dulcie, not at all." 
 
 "I think," she said to him presently, "I think 
 a great change has come over you since we first 
 met. Then you seemed so eager to do and act 
 and now ? " 
 
 "Now I am in curb," he replied. "At that
 
 1 66 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 time I had given the matter too little real 
 thought. Now it haunts me day and night. " 
 
 "Day and night," she repeated softly, "day 
 and night?" 
 
 In a little time she again turned her face from 
 the street and said: 
 
 "You are quite right. It is cowardly in me not 
 to face the thing alone. I will try to let you know 
 in ten days what I am going to do." 
 
 " That is ? " he queried 
 
 "That is, whether to satisfy some of my friends 
 by going back to Glen Farm, or whether to 
 satisfy my soul, I disappear; or, to satisfy my 
 common-sense, I stay here and fight it out. " 
 
 He leaned over the rail by some quick impulse. 
 His eyes at once met the shifting blue ones of the 
 mad doctor who was standing below. A desire to 
 protect Dulcie made him take her arm and lead 
 her into the parlour. 
 
 " DeWitt is below, " he said. " Go to your room 
 and lock yourself in. I will remain here until the 
 return of Mr. and Mrs. Manifold. " 
 
 When Dr. DeWitt peered stealthily into the 
 parlour a few minutes later he saw only the 
 young Virginian, who, seated in a shady corner, 
 was intently reading from a paper-covered book 
 which was, in truth, only a fly-specked medicine 
 almanac. 
 
 The Manifolds returned to their home the
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 167 
 
 following morning, Peter declaiming that the 
 colts would be ruined if he stayed away a minute 
 longer. Before they left, however, Colonel Buck- 
 man, Milly and Dulcie's trunks arrived at the 
 hotel, and between the two men Linas was made 
 to feel the great importance and responsibility 
 of Mrs. DeWitt's stay with him and to give the 
 strictest orders in regard to loafers and strollers 
 in the house, Dr. DeWitt in particular. Dulcie 
 herself had no apprehensions but walked out 
 each afternoon with Milly and spent her time 
 reading and sewing. She had her meals served to 
 her in her room. Lucian did not try to see her 
 or to offer her any civilities that would cause 
 comment. He bowed to her while riding by and 
 sometimes saw her seated upon the gallery. 
 When the ten days were up, he would once more 
 openly see her and hear her decision. 
 
 It was, therefore, with the utmost surprise 
 that he saw, from his window, quite early on the 
 morning of the eighth day, the quiet lawyer, 
 Beamer Van Wye, fairly running up the avenue. 
 It had rained the night before, a heavy rain 
 accompanied by high winds, thunder, and light- 
 ning. Van Wye saw no puddles in his way and 
 even disregarded the flower beds. The man was 
 in dire trouble. 
 
 Lucian met -him in the vestibule. The law- 
 yer's face was white and drawn.
 
 1 68 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "Have you heard ?" 
 
 "Heard? What?" 
 
 " Mrs. DeWitt is gone stolen out of her 
 room last night and some of her clothing was 
 picked up on the road out of town." 
 
 Lucian motioned the lawyer into his bed- 
 room and finished his toilet without calling 
 John. 
 
 "Who has done such a thing ?" 
 
 "Dr. DeWitt, of course." 
 
 "Where is he ? Have they got him ?" 
 
 "He is in town now." 
 
 "In custody?" 
 
 "Why no. You can't arrest a man for stealing 
 his own wife." 
 
 "What does he say?" 
 
 "Smiles and says nothing." 
 
 "Are they hunting for her ?" 
 
 "We're going to, the Colonel, you and I and 
 every man who will volunteer. We've sent for 
 Peter Manifold, and Ethelbert Sugg has six men 
 on horseback now." 
 
 Lucian touched the bell, and while John fin- 
 ished his toilet gave rapid orders to Summers. 
 It was astoinishing how quick were his thoughts. 
 There were good horses in his stables, three of 
 which he, Van Wye and Summers would ride. 
 The gardener was to hire an extra horse and 
 report at once at the hotel, John to be there with
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 169 
 
 the drag and team and two detectives at once 
 telegraphed for from Lexington. 
 
 There was little more news for Lucian at the 
 hotel. Milly always slept in her mistress's room 
 on a mattress. She remembered nothing after 
 the two had retired until she wakened, long past 
 her usual hour and found the window shutters 
 open and her mistress gone. A bed blanket but 
 no outer clothing was missing, no hat or cloak. 
 There were muddy footsteps on the gallery floor 
 and there could be but one inference. Dulcie 
 had been actually stolen away in the night. 
 
 At the cross-roads just north of town had been 
 found a stocking and a bit of underwear. These 
 Milly identified at once, but said, with the sim- 
 plest common-sense: 
 
 "She nevah take dat waist ner one stocking 
 wid her. Some one else took dem tricks an* put 
 'em thar." 
 
 When Lucian in hunting garb rode up to the 
 hotel, one of the first persons he saw in an 
 excited crowd was Dr. DeWitt with his familiar, 
 the lawyer Graham, from Middleport. He met 
 Ethelbert Sugg near the door. 
 
 "Sugg," he said, "find me the sharpest men 
 in Grafton who will work to-day for money." 
 
 The tall Kentuckian considered for a few 
 moments and went out. He returned, accom- 
 panied by a pale shoemaker that Lucian recog-
 
 1 7 o THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 nized, and the township clerk. It was a simple 
 thing Lucian asked of them in exchange for 
 good wages. They were not to lose sight of Dr. 
 DeWitt until the Lexington detectives arrived. 
 
 "He may have her," he thought grimly, "but 
 he'll never see her again alive if I can help it." 
 
 The crowd in the hotel bar seemed divided 
 as to whether to join in the search or not. 
 
 " If Dr. DeWitt's got his wife, I don't feel no 
 call to interfere," said the village blacksmith 
 in his strong voice. "Not to come between hus- 
 band and wife. I wouldn't like it myself." 
 
 "Nor I! Nor I!" said other voices. 
 
 "Why don't he say he's got her?" called out 
 another. "A man don't have to crawfish any 
 about seeing his wife. Let him speak out like 
 a man." 
 
 "I don't choose to say a word," yelled the 
 doctor. " I know the law. The law always is on 
 my side, and my wife and I could get along if 
 there wasn't so much interfering. I don't have 
 to say anything." 
 
 "Take care you do know the law and all the 
 law," said Beamer Van Wye sneeringly; "you 
 might be too sure." 
 
 "Ain't I got the law, Graham ?" shouted the 
 doctor. "Ain't I?" 
 
 But Graham had disappeared for the time 
 being and the doctor blinked and sneered alone.
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 171 
 
 A search party was quickly organized. So 
 many were eager for the northern roads that 
 two parties were sent out from the hotel but in 
 opposite directions. Beamer Van Wye had at 
 once set a small printing-press at work on hastily- 
 worded circulars. They offered a hundred dol- 
 lars reward for any information of Dulcie or 
 her abductors. This stimulated a number of the 
 townspeople, who set off in various directions 
 over hill and dale. By ten o'clock fifty people 
 were out and Lucian was still uncertain what 
 course to pursue. He had already decided that 
 the clothing had been dropped to mislead and 
 that the only clue lay in Dr. DeWitt. That 
 worthy was apparently asleep in an arm-chair 
 in the bar-room. Outside stood the township 
 clerk and the pale shoemaker, chewing tobacco 
 and chatting. 
 
 About noon Mrs. Buckman drove up in her 
 carriage. She was entirely melted and thor- 
 oughly frightened. As the Colonel had taken 
 a party of men up the eastern roads it fell upon 
 Lucian Beardsley to go out to her with that 
 lack of information which breeds the worst 
 anxiety. 
 
 " I am afraid that he will kill her," murmured 
 Mrs. Buckman's lips, "and no one be about. 
 He may kill her this time, you know." 
 
 "She may die, Mrs. Buckman, die of neglect
 
 17* THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 or inhuman treatment, but not through him," 
 said Lucian slowly, " for he is here and he never 
 will escape me now to go to her. Glen Farm and 
 all the cabins have been searched and they will 
 be searched again. She is not there, I feel sure." 
 
 Mrs. Buckman clasped her hands together. 
 
 "I can only pray for her every moment. 
 Don't you lose sight of him and you will get 
 her, I am sure. Poor, poor Dulcie, poor martyr!" 
 
 At noon Dr. DeWitt rose, mounted his horse 
 and started out of the town. At a little distance 
 behind him pounded the shoemaker and the 
 tall clerk, both on good horses. The doctor kept 
 on toward Glen Farm, glancing back now and 
 again. 
 
 "Are you all following me?" he asked, wait- 
 ing for them to come up. " Because if you are, 
 clear out!" 
 
 The men made no response of any kind and 
 the doctor rode on, entering the farm. On 
 pounded the horses behind him. 
 
 "You're trespassing. Get out! This is my 
 place, d'ye hear ? " 
 
 But the men paid no attention to him and, 
 when he entered the house, stood, one at each 
 entrance door, for a half hour. 
 
 "I'm going back to town, fools!" he shrieked, 
 coming out. "I'll have the law on ye yet, see 
 if I don't."
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 173 
 
 The Lexington men had arrived on the train 
 and were busy with Lucian and the Colonel, 
 who had returned without any clue. The hand- 
 bills would be well over the county by night. 
 The Lexington men thought it best that Dr. 
 DeWitt should think himself free from any 
 watch. This was done and his suspicions were 
 somewhat lulled by the absence of the towns- 
 men he dreaded. Graham was nowhere about, 
 a circumstance that gave Lucian much uneasi- 
 ness and conjecture. 
 
 About four o'clock Peter Manifold drove up 
 to the hotel with Kitty in tears, Aunt Reba, and 
 Eustace. The first ray of comfort Lucian Beard- 
 sley and the Colonel had during the dreadful 
 day was when the flushed and tear-stained little 
 wife rushed into their conference. 
 
 "Isn't it awful? But I shouldn't wonder if 
 I could tell you all just exactly where that bad 
 man took Dulcie and hid her!"
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 A WOMAN'S NAY DOTH STAND FOR NAUGHT 
 
 IT'S no place for you to go." 
 " But I'm going, Peter, if I die. If she is 
 not there, it won't hurt me. If she is there, 
 she'll want to see a friendly woman's face mighty 
 bad." 
 
 The two stood before the round table in the 
 big parlour where a consultation of Dulcie's 
 friends was in progress. Peter's usually gentle 
 face was quite distorted with anger. 
 
 "You stay right here and take care of the 
 baby. We can hunt up that hole by ourselves, 
 I say." 
 
 "And make a fine mess of it!" retorted Kitty. 
 "That poor yellow girl used to be as smart as 
 any of you. I know her." 
 
 Kitty May was on the verge of indignant 
 tears but stuck to her guns. 
 
 "Well, I wouldn't tell it if I was you!" 
 174
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 175 
 
 "She came right off the Le May place, she 
 did. Her mammy was my mammy if you will 
 have it. And she is only about two years older 
 than me if she has got seven children. That's 
 why I just do hate Dr. DeWitt, I do!" she 
 breathed vehemently, her eyes like stars with 
 anger. 
 
 Peter subsided and Lucian clapped his hands 
 softly. 
 
 "O, Mistress Kitty May, you are a genius, 
 you are!" 
 
 Kitty May coloured and softened at once, 
 with a glance like victory at Peter. 
 
 "What would be your plan ?" went on Lucian 
 deferentially. 
 
 "We all will go out there and I will go in first 
 and if Dulcie is there I will get her." 
 
 "O no, no!" broke from all the men. 
 
 "Yes, I will," announced the little soldier, 
 "and I can find out more in ten minutes than 
 you can in a whole year. I know Delia. She loves 
 me better than anything yet. There won't be 
 any trouble. I can manage her first-rate." 
 
 "It's too risky," returned Lucian, but this 
 time Peter put in. 
 
 "Kitty May is safe if that yellow woman is 
 her foster-sister. I know nigger ways even bet- 
 ter'n you do, Mr. Beardsley, bein' brought up 
 that way and no othah. You all see that I never
 
 176 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 knew Kitty May was her breast-sister or I'd 
 nevah made such a fuss." 
 
 "It isn't such a big risk," declared the Colo- 
 nel, "if Kitty May has got the pluck to carry 
 it through. It may save some shooting and we 
 don't care to be too free with weapons on this 
 errand. Let's try to do things peaceful if we 
 can." 
 
 " But we'll take our guns," observed Beamer 
 Van Wye, "for a nigger hasn't got the proper 
 respect nowadays for a white man without a 
 gun. We'll take our guns and be on the safe 
 side." 
 
 The plan agreed upon was that the party 
 should at once separate as if going home. Peter 
 and Kitty May were to turn off at a cross lane 
 and make for Ethelbert Sugg's house, which 
 was about four miles down the river and it was 
 not far across to the cabin. Sugg proposed to 
 cross the stream with horses and riders on a raft 
 made to convey over hay and the farm crops, 
 and he promised a short cut up the hollow. 
 
 Lucian, Colonel Buckman, Van Wye, and 
 Summers, with John, the coloured man, as a 
 guide, crossed the town bridge and rode to meet 
 the raft party at a place agreed upon soon after 
 dark. A plan to watch DeWitt was arranged 
 with the detectives and Linas. The latter entered 
 into it with much evident satisfaction as an
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 177 
 
 opportunity to display a peculiar humour. When 
 the second party left the hotel Dr. DeWitt was 
 still sleeping in the bar-room with his feet on 
 a window-sill and his handkerchief over his 
 face. 
 
 "Darned old catamount!" snapped Linas, 
 "sleeps all day and prowls all night, he 
 does." 
 
 In the stables two saddled horses waited and, 
 at the hitching-post, stood that long-suffering 
 mare of Dr. De Witt's that every boy in Grafton 
 and Middleport knew and pitied, watered and 
 gave apples and hay to, as another dumb vic- 
 tim of his terrible habits. To-night Linas him- 
 self saw that she was watered and fed gener- 
 ously. 
 
 "She'll have work to do," he said grimly, 
 " and he never spares her." 
 
 It was ten o'clock before the doctor awoke. 
 
 Then he stirred, sniffed and grunted omin- 
 ously and brought his feet down with a thump. 
 He gazed about with vague, glazed eyes, and, as 
 his senses woke, suspiciously. The bar-room 
 was more deserted than usual and he failed to 
 find anything to growl about. After a drink or 
 two he turned to Linas who was playing check- 
 ers with Henry Clay Taulbee, the biggest man, 
 physically, in all Grafton. 
 
 "Row about my wife all over?" he asked
 
 I 7 8 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 airily. "Don't see any policeman round sticking 
 into other folks' business." 
 
 "Found her about five o'clock, I believe," 
 returned Linas never looking up; "that's what 
 we heard, Doc. I s'pose they took her right out 
 to Colonel Buckman's place 'till she's able to 
 tell jes' who broke into this hyah hotel o' 
 mine." 
 
 "You're fooling me," cried the doctor, shak- 
 ing and livid at once. "You are lying to 
 me." 
 
 "You are mighty sure," sneered the lank 
 Linas. "Say, Henry Clay, didn't you hear that 
 Mis' DeWitt had been found ?" 
 
 The big Taulbee took his pipe from his 
 mouth. 
 
 "Ef Doc wants ter bet, I'll match 'im on 
 anything he lays out that she's found." 
 
 "I'll bet the mare no, I won't! Why should 
 I pay any attention to you at all ? She isn't 
 found. Bah! what do I care anyhow? She's 
 nothing to me." 
 
 Taulbee raised his big blue eyes inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 "What you makin' sech a 'tarnal fuss fer, 
 then ? She's found all right and you'll be in the 
 soup-pot, won't ye ? " 
 
 The doctor dashed into the darkness with 
 much of the profanity for which he was noted.
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 179 
 
 Linas put his head out of the back door and 
 whistled. Out of the darkness two riders went 
 after the flying figure. 
 
 "He'll never stop 'til he's sure pop," said 
 Linas, "and we all spoke the truth. She's good 
 as found now." 
 
 The searchers met at the place appointed in 
 the dewy summer night. The raft made a slow 
 passage over by a wire fastened between trees. 
 Kitty May hugged a bundle which she would 
 not relinquish. Lucian's heart beat warm with 
 gratitude as he surmised that it was clothing 
 for the kidnapped wife. 
 
 They rode almost in silence over several 
 meadows and not only Ethelbert but Kitty May 
 seemed to know every step of the way. They 
 struck the rocky creek bed a little farther on 
 and proceeded another mile or more. Then 
 Kitty stopped. 
 
 "Eth, you all can hear the river at the Big 
 Bend. It is time to stop and tie up the horses." 
 
 John was left to keep an outlook, but within 
 call. 
 
 "If Dr. DeWitt came over would he come up 
 the creek bed ?" whispered Lucian to Sugg. 
 
 The tall man shook his head. 
 
 "The river makes three turns and isn't a 
 quarter of a mile distant. Beyond the river a 
 half mile lies Glen Farm. He has a boat."
 
 i8o THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 Presently Kitty May stopped them again. 
 Across a rough bit of plowed ground shone a 
 light. 
 
 "There's the house, and only one light. Give 
 me fifteen minutes and if I don't come out, 
 Peter, you steal up, will you ?" 
 
 Peter growled something into her ear. 
 
 "O, I'm not afraid of Delia at all. Yes, I've 
 got the pistol in my pocket. I'll be all right." 
 
 She walked out into the open and struck 
 boldly across the plowed ground. As she neared 
 the cabin the door opened and a voice called 
 out: 
 
 "Whodatoutdar?" 
 
 "Mis' Kitty May, Delia. Come out here. 
 I must speak to you." 
 
 The door was slammed shut but in a moment 
 was opened again. 
 
 "What you all heah foah at dark night, Mis' 
 Kitty May?" 
 
 "Let me in and I'll tell you, Delia. I come 
 to save my foster-sister from big trouble." 
 
 The listeners heard a loud sobbing. 
 
 "I has lots o' trouble, Miss Kitty May, but 
 I can't let you in." 
 
 Kitty May beat at the door. 
 
 "Let me in, Delia. I came to save you more 
 trouble. I'm your friend and I came to save 
 you."
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 181 
 
 A shrill voice called out: 
 
 "Go 'way you! I'll tell my paw." 
 
 Kitty still beat at the door with her small 
 hands. 
 
 "I'm out here and I will not go away, Delia. 
 Let me in, old mammy's girl." 
 
 A small crevice of light showed again. 
 
 "Let me in, Delia, or send out that poor 
 woman that's in there. The whole country is 
 searching for her. I know she is there." 
 
 "Is that all yuh frien' dat war hyah onct, 
 Mis' Kitty May ? I war dead afeared o' dat." 
 
 "Of course it is. Of all the things the doctor 
 has done, this one is the worst. Do you want to 
 be put in prison, Delia ?" 
 
 The door opened but the distorted cripple 
 was seen on the floor, pushing against it with all 
 his strength. 
 
 "You hesh up! This is our house. I'll tell my 
 paw. He'll shuah kill you," he shrieked. 
 
 Kitty May pushed him aside pitilessly. 
 
 She was in the rooms now, running and look- 
 ing about in spite of the frightened children. 
 Two of the rooms were as usual, but the third, 
 opening out of the bedroom, was closed. Kitty's 
 quick eyes at once saw that the door was not 
 closed but had been recently nailed up. 
 
 "She's in there, Delia," she cried, "and you 
 will surely go to prison for it. You must get her
 
 182 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 right out before those men come in and find her 
 here. Don't you know who she is, Delia ? Don't 
 you know?" 
 
 "She is de doctah's patient, and she's gone 
 plumb mad. He's goin' try curin' her with fresh 
 air out here, Mis' Kitty. She was brung here by 
 her brother last night." 
 
 "A most wicked lie!" replied Kitty May 
 solemnly. "She is Dr. DeWitt's wife. She don't 
 want to live with him any longer because she 
 saw those poor children. He stole her away last 
 night and he sent her here." 
 
 With a wild yell, too much like that of a 
 wounded animal, poor Delia sprang out of the 
 door into the darkness. Ere the anxious party in 
 the bushes had time to reach the house the wo- 
 man dashed into the kitchen with a great axe 
 and began chopping at the closed door with 
 mighty strokes. A furious strength possessed 
 her and three or four blows broke through the 
 planks. On the floor within lay Dulcie DeWitt, 
 barefooted, and clad only in an old gown belong- 
 ing to the negress. She crouched low in an agony 
 of terror. With the last stroke of the axe and one 
 mighty kick the door fell and Lucian Beardsley 
 dashed in and raised up the shrinking figure 
 of his kinswoman. 
 
 "Is she alive?" came many anxious voices. 
 " Is she all right?"
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 183 
 
 "Give her to me, Mr. Beardsley," said Kitty 
 May in her sharpest voice, " and do get her some 
 water. Well, Delia, you see I was right. You 
 always would believe everything that wicked, 
 wicked man said to you." 
 
 There was a sudden yell of delight from the 
 cripple: 
 
 "There's my paw!" 
 
 Dr. DeWitt stood in the doorway, his face 
 livid and distorted with fury. 
 
 "A nice set of people, you all, to come after 
 another man's wife. I'll have it out of you yet. 
 And who broke in that door ? This is my house 
 and my land." 
 
 But the octoroon sprang forward. 
 
 "This hyah's my house," she said sullenly. 
 "Ye onct gib me papers and I broked down my 
 own door, d'ye heah ? I can do it if I want ter 
 do it, d'ye heah ? I'm not yuh wife, am I ?" 
 
 "I'll give you a taste of this whip," cried the 
 man furiously, "you see if I don't." 
 
 A half dozen pistols were out in a second but 
 heavy hands fell on the doctor's shoulders from 
 behind. 
 
 "You led us a fine chase, didn't you?" said 
 one of the Lexington men coolly, "but your 
 neighbours also have boats, doctor." 
 
 "We will take him back to Grafton with 
 us," said the other man; "if he resists we can
 
 1 84 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 clap him in jail for breach of peace, that's 
 all." 
 
 Kitty May, sobbing for very relief, was wrap- 
 ping a cloak around Dulcie and tying on her 
 shoes. Delia crept over the floor and tried to 
 look up into her eyes. 
 
 "I did dat all foah you, Mis' Kitty May honest 
 to God. He'll kill me yet, but I did it foah you. 
 He said she war plumb mad, 'deed he did." 
 
 "Never do anything like it again," said Kitty 
 May earnestly, " or you'll surely go to prison for 
 it. If you do, don't come to me. Old mammy 
 wasn't your kind. She was good as gold, honest 
 and true." 
 
 They left Delia crouched on the floor, the 
 frightened children wailing. Lucian Beardsley 
 and the Colonel supported Dulcie, Van Wye 
 and Summers followed. Kitty May was almost 
 hysterical and wanted to talk to her husband 
 and Ethelbert Sugg at the same time. 
 
 John appeared in answer to his master's whis- 
 tle. He had the big chestnut in lead. 
 
 "Wait," said Lucian in his assertive way, 
 "wait, John." 
 
 He sprang upon the chestnut and held out 
 his arms. 
 
 "Up with her, Colonel," he said, "up with 
 my cousin. After to-night I stand back for no 
 man."
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 185 
 
 They lifted her without any protest. He set 
 her before him without a look at the others. 
 
 "Go on!" he said quietly, "I will keep with 
 you as you walk." 
 
 He had her within his arm under the dark 
 boughs. Her head fell onto his shoulder with 
 her woe and weakness. Only once he heard her 
 murmur something under her breath. 
 
 "Yes ? what is it ? Do you want anything ?" 
 
 But she only repeated fearfully, wonderingly: 
 
 "For the wages of sin is death."
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 CAPTIVE TO HIS HONEYED WORDS 
 
 THEN began to go up and down the 
 county as the summer passed many 
 strange rumours as to the state of affairs 
 at Broad Acres. The even tenor of the Buckman 
 marital compact was in some way disturbed. The 
 horseman absented himself much from home, he 
 smoked furiously and rode hard. His wife was 
 more erect, dignified and saintly-appearing than 
 ever. The negroes whispered with regret how the 
 "ole Kunnel" slept in the spare room and that 
 "Mis' Sudie's temper" was a torment and a 
 caution. 
 
 The trouble, sad to say, was about Dulcie. 
 It arose from the fact that her kinsman carried 
 her from the cabin of the negress straight to 
 the house, Paradise; that there he gave her into 
 the care of John's wife and that he and Beamer 
 Van Wye patrolled the grounds all night. In the
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 187 
 
 morning he moved out his personal possessions 
 and left Dulcie actual mistress of the place with 
 Summers and John as a guard. He went to 
 Lexington to consult a great lawyer, one whose 
 name had been known in the halls of Congress 
 for two generations. Acting on his advice, Lu- 
 cian sent down an extra man and at once pushed 
 on to Richmond. At home there and by the 
 magic of his wealth, he finally secured the widow 
 of a Confederate general to chaperone Dulcie 
 and he reached Graftonwith her in ten days' time. 
 Mrs. General Head did not come unwillingly 
 or ignorantly. She knew exactly what was ex- 
 pected of her when she placed a large check to 
 her credit in a Richmond bank. She came pre- 
 pared to champion Dulcie DeWitt and to stand 
 between her and the good folk of the county. 
 In her young days she had been a great belle and 
 still had much more spirit than her relatives 
 liked. Lucian gravely assured her that her spirit 
 would be worth money to her if she could use 
 it in the right way. Mrs. Head known gener- 
 ally as "Mrs. General" assured him that she 
 snuffed the battle from afar. Always elegantly 
 gowned and impressive, she at once packed up 
 seven trunks, and with her own maid was ready 
 to return to Grafton with Lucian. She fully un- 
 derstood that she was to take up Dulcie's cause, 
 and that with a vengeance.
 
 1 88 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 The ten days of Lucian's absence passed un- 
 eventfully at Paradise. For three or four of 
 them Dulcie was too prostrated even to notice 
 the unremitting attentions of her new house- 
 hold. Lucian wrote her from Lexington asking 
 her to remain in the house quietly and to allow 
 Summers to manage everything. He also wrote 
 her that he would return to protect her and 
 bring a woman friend with him. Mrs. DeWitt 
 was too horribly shaken by her latest experience 
 even to reason. She could not read the books 
 and she did not care to look at the boxes of 
 sweets Lucian sent her by mail. She not only 
 had Milly to sleep at night on a mattress at the 
 foot of her bed, but Summers must be on a cot 
 in the hallway. She trembled at every sound. 
 
 In the meantime the county was in a ferment. 
 Dulcie DeWitt had gone to live in her cousin's 
 house, a cousin so far removed that no one could 
 grade the relationship, still a cousin. Dr. De- 
 Witt went free. A man cannot be held for kid- 
 napping his own wife. He laughed and boasted 
 and declared that Dulcie went away with him 
 willingly that if Lucian Beardsley and that set 
 would not interfere Dulcie would at once return 
 to Glen Farm. He intimated in strong, choice 
 and peculiar language that he could and would 
 now make it particularly red hot for her if she 
 put in a petition for divorce.
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 189 
 
 Mrs. Buckman was ready, on that night of 
 Dulcie's rescue, to receive her and take her at 
 once to Broad Acres. She waited, weary, heart- 
 sick and anxious on the upper porch of the little 
 hotel until, with no small amount of noise, the 
 rescue party rode into the village and she saw 
 Lucian Beardsley riding ahead with Dulcie in 
 his arms, Kitty May at his side. Her good reso- 
 lutions died within her at the sight. Had she 
 spoken then Dulcie would never have gone to 
 Paradise, but, during those hesitating moments 
 in front of the hotel, Lucian Beardsley under- 
 stood and resented, with the fiercest of reso- 
 lutions, Mrs. Buckman's feelings. 
 
 "My poor girl! Well, mercy for mercy, fight 
 for fight. She must go to Paradise." 
 
 Then he rode on with his burden. 
 
 An hour later Colonel Buckman returned to 
 the hotel with Lucian Beardsley and Beamer Van 
 Wye. His wife was bonneted and in wait. It was 
 long after midnight. The Colonel called up the 
 carriage and roused the sleepy men. He put his 
 wife into it and stood with his foot upon the step. 
 
 "You will be perfectly safe going home alone," 
 he said, " and there is too much for me to do here 
 to go out with you. " 
 
 "What are you going to do ?" she cried with 
 trembling hands. "What can be done ?" 
 
 "What is done, we three men, Kitty May and
 
 190 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 Peter Manifold will do," he said meaningly, 
 " and I will come home as soon as I can to look 
 after Favorite. She was a very sick mare yes- 
 terday. " 
 
 Kitty May stayed loyally at Paradise with 
 Dulcie, but Eustace's continued fretfulness next 
 morning developed into a case of measles and 
 the parents were forced to hurry off home with 
 him. He was a much sicker child than they ever 
 let Dulcie know, and this illness kept Kitty May 
 away during Lucian's entire absence. 
 
 Colonel Buckman's announcement to his wife 
 that Lucian Beardsley had installed Dulcie at 
 Paradise was received with a burst of tears. He 
 watched her very grimly, puffing at his pipe. 
 
 " It is the end, the very end ! " she sobbed, " and 
 that is what it has actually come to, after all 
 Dulcie has been taught and told." 
 
 "Where else could she go ?" queried the Colo- 
 nel. "You never asked her here. You made a 
 fool of me. I had been urging it, and you were 
 dumb. Where could she go to be safe from that 
 scoundrel ?" 
 
 "She will really have to marry him I mean 
 Mr. Beardsley. 
 
 The Colonel grunted, but merely puffed away. 
 
 "I just cannot give my support to anything 
 about that divorce," said Mrs. Buckman in a 
 much firmer voice. "I am setting myself up
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 191 
 
 against all of you, but the day will come when 
 Dulcie will know that I am exactly right. And I 
 will stand against you all if it kills me. You may 
 rescue her body, Colonel, but you all are going to 
 kill her immortal soul." 
 
 The Colonel made no reply. He was not in a 
 good humour to discuss souls. His mare was dead 
 and the woman he regarded almost as a daughter 
 was in terrible sorrow. He was bitterly hurt at his 
 own impotence in the matter, and it was his 
 wife's "notions" that had placed him in such a 
 false position. So the rift widened. 
 
 He rode every day to see " his girl," as he fond- 
 ly called her. He would tiptoe into the room and 
 sit by her bedside. Her tears wet his stubby red 
 hand as she held it to her cheek. Seeing her mis- 
 ery, his heart grew harder toward the cruel 
 world and his wife. 
 
 Even Beamer Van Wye was somewhat 
 surprised at the interest Dulcie's residence at 
 Paradise excited. Whether it was sympathy 
 or curiosity, many a carriage drove up the rose- 
 bordered avenue to make inquiries during the 
 fortnight and to leave cards. 
 
 There were frequent consultations between 
 the Colonel and the lawyer. They sat on the 
 grass plot in front of the frame office of the latter, 
 every afternoon. The ground was quite bare 
 when their feet shuffled to and fro. One day
 
 I 9 z THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 there came a long letter from Lucian that pleased 
 both men immensely. They solemnly adjourned 
 to the most hospitable shelter of Linas's bar- 
 room and there shook hands over several glasses 
 of mint julep. When the genial effects of these 
 had accomplished their work, it was decided that 
 it was only fair to Peter Manifold that he should 
 know all about it and they mounted their horses 
 for a long ride in the interests of friendship and a 
 good piece of news. 
 
 Eustace was better, but such a tiny white 
 wraith of himself that the men both gulped some- 
 thing down when they looked at him as he lay 
 on his mother's lap in the gallery. There was the 
 remnants of a dumb fear in Peter's mild eyes and 
 of a dumb grief and passion in Kitty May's. The 
 two had fought against great odds for the little 
 child's life and were as yet hardly aware of their 
 victory. Kitty May would yield the babe to no 
 one. Aunt Reba crouched by the pillow on which 
 he lay and gently fanned both mother and 
 child. 
 
 The two rejoiced greatly at the news of Mrs. 
 General Head's coming. Kitty's heart thrilled so 
 that it lifted away the lingering dread and she 
 was once more able to smile and be hopeful. It 
 was a relief to hear of the outside world, of the 
 strong, protecting arm Lucian was throwing 
 around Dulcie. Kitty May smiled and the flower-
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 193 
 
 like bloom of her charming, piquant face some- 
 what returned. 
 
 "Law, I'm so glad to hear of it! Mrs. General 
 Head ! That is a right big name, isn't it, Peter ? 
 Dulcie will be so swell she will not look at we all 
 any moah. You all will never know how I wanted 
 to be with Dulcie, but Eustace here well, Colo- 
 nel, Eustace has been pretty sick." 
 
 Her voice broke a little, then went on bravely: 
 
 "We all will have to take the next boat to Cin- 
 cinnati foah good clothes to wear. We take the 
 Richmond papers Peter's pa took them before 
 the wah and I do read all the big society 
 news. I've seen Mrs. General Head's name over 
 a hundred times, and such fine dresses as she 
 always has! Peter, just hand me a dozen or so 
 papers off that Richmond pile. I will find you 
 something about her, see if I don't. " 
 
 Peter, the gladness of great relief in his eyes, 
 went obediently. Kitty May caressed Eustace's 
 fingers as she rattled on gaily: 
 
 "I'm with you all, heart and soul. I do want 
 Dulcie to keep up heart. Some one's got to stand 
 by her or she'll break up. She's got a terrible 
 trouble and she's so alone. Every one must 
 consider that." 
 
 " I'm sure," she rattled on, "that if Nancy was 
 here she would make it up with Dulcie, now 
 she's in such trouble. So I says to Peter, 'You
 
 194 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 married cousinship in marrying Nance, and 
 I'll take it up.' We're Dulcie's cousins too, and 
 we're going to stand by her ef she goes to court. 
 And my pa, John May, will come with us. Pa 
 isn't counted on by some as right in the county 
 bluebloods, but he's shorely known as a square 
 man. Won't we all make up a party," she 
 laughed out, "all of us in our best clothes and 
 Mrs. General Head in the best clothes of all?" 
 
 Beamer Van Wye drew his chair near to her 
 and bent over Eustace tenderly. 
 
 "Kitty May," he said softly, "I never was 
 married and never had any daughters, but I won- 
 der if I couldn't adopt you and Eustace some." 
 
 Kitty May regarded him with most apprecia- 
 tive eyes. 
 
 " I don't know what pa would say. He's awful 
 proud of me. But you're one of the few I wouldn't 
 mind having for Eustace's grandpa, you and the 
 Colonel. I feel like you all sort o' belonged. Only 
 don't you all coax Peter into too many juleps. I 
 do have to lecture at him so after them, you 
 know. I 'most wish I could scare him with 
 Nance's rising about it. " 
 
 Peter came in with the papers and gently de- 
 posited them on a chair by his wife. 
 
 "Do you want to hold Eustace just a little 
 minute, Mammy Reba ? " said Kitty May, beam- 
 ing down on the black woman. " I know you are
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 195 
 
 dying to do it. See, he's looking at you. Take him 
 very careful, Mammy. There, he's smiling just a 
 little, my precious little life ! And now let's 
 see" 
 
 Kitty turned over the papers and finally waved 
 one in triumph. 
 
 " Here it is ! Want to hear it ? Mrs. General 
 Head at the Jefferson Nixons's ball. I knew I had 
 it. Now you all do listen. ' Mrs. General Head 
 chaperoned several young girls from Baltimore 
 and the east coast, among them the Misses De 
 Jong, Leadau and Mason. Mrs. Head was ele- 
 gant in a decollete black gown of Chantilly net 
 with very open jet Empire cements extremely be- 
 coming to her style. In the scarf drapery of the 
 bodice were tied small bouquets of roses. Dia- 
 monds completed this very elegant costume/ * 
 
 An impressive silence followed. The Colonel 
 was thinking of tawny-haired Dulcie in her sim- 
 ple black gown, Beamer Van Wye of the strange 
 freak of Fate that was bringing Mrs. General 
 Head to Grafton. But, somehow, all were un- 
 expectedly comforted and the future looked 
 much brighter. 
 
 One summer day Lucian's telegram from 
 Lexington came, ordering dinner for a party of 
 four and saying that he had Mrs. Head with him 
 and that he wanted Beamer Van Wye to dine at 
 Paradise. At five o'clock the arrivals came up the
 
 196 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 avenue in the trap and Dulcie, very wan and 
 trembling, stood alone in the hall and watched 
 the party alight. 
 
 What had she to do with these fine people ? 
 With Mrs. General so splendid in feathers, laces 
 and silk ? With Lucian in his light clothing and 
 Panama hat ? With even Beamer Van Wye in his 
 threadbare garb but with his distinguished air ? 
 These were people of a world wholly apart from 
 her and her woes. She looked down at her own 
 shabby gown, black and of no particular cut. She 
 fled away, but Lucian was in at the doors, seeking 
 her at once. 
 
 "Dulcie, my cousin, here is my friend, Mrs. 
 Head, come to keep you company. " 
 
 He felt all her shrinking, her hesitancy. But 
 there was in it something youthful as well as pa- 
 thetic. His enthusiasm lent her a little courage, 
 and when he led her out to the terrace she had 
 somewhat recovered. Mrs. Head had generously 
 endeavoured to reconcile Lucian's many con- 
 flicting statements about Dulcie. She flattered 
 herself that she understood men, but when the 
 prince led out this shabby but very fair creature 
 in distress, she drew her breath a little sharply. 
 This was indeed a real Kentucky princess, and 
 O ! forlorn and really lovely enough to be forgiven 
 all the trouble she was causing everybody. 
 
 " I may come in, may I not ? " Mrs. General said
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 197 
 
 brightly, " for this Paradise of yours is so beauti- 
 ful I can hardly believe I am to stay here a while. 
 Howluckyyou are to have sucha home,my dear. " 
 
 Dulcie's head went up. 
 
 "My cousin only lent it to me. It is all his 
 taste. And because you are his friend, I am glad 
 to have you come." 
 
 "Well said!" thought Lucian. "She will do 
 with some new clothes, and O! if Mrs. Gen- 
 eral can but persuade her into those things she 
 bought for her in Richmond." 
 
 But for several days it was a dangerous sub- 
 ject. Dulcie grew painfully red if new gowns were 
 proposed to her, and shook her head. 
 
 It was then that the real trouble at Broad 
 Acres arose. Lucian buttonholed the Colonel 
 on the public square and took him to Paradise to 
 call and to lunch. Straightway he fell a victim to 
 Mrs. General's hospitable wiles, as had Beamer 
 Van Wye. He waxed even more paternal towards 
 Dulcie as he drank champagne and told her that 
 she must obey her kind friends in every way and 
 be thankful to Providence that had raised them 
 up for her. 
 
 Lucian grimaced a little, but Mrs. General, in a 
 private tete-a-tete with him on the rose-bordered 
 terrace, gave him her opinion of Dulcie's great 
 charm and her stubbornness as to gowns. 
 Gowns and chiffon were absolutely necessary to
 
 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 happiness in Mrs. General's mind. They would 
 be such a consolation to Dulcie, and so becoming. 
 Dulcie must show the world what she really was. 
 The inevitable was coming. The divorce petition 
 was preparing and, in the fall, Dulcie must go 
 into court a lovely, radiant woman and show the 
 whole county what a real ornament to Kentucky 
 society Dr. DeWitt had been hiding away and 
 abusing so scandalously. 
 
 The Colonel was quite convinced that nothing 
 could avert the divorce. He was glad to be swept 
 away by the eloquence of an elegant, perfumed 
 lady of fashion who also amused and entertained 
 him. Unwisely he went home and in his exhilara- 
 tion declared, not only his intention of standing 
 by Dulcie in October, but rather too openly ex- 
 pressed his admiration for Mrs. General. Such a 
 thing had never happened before. Mrs. Buck- 
 man was indignant and she expressed it, where- 
 upon the Colonel gave vent to his feelings in some 
 memorable words. 
 
 "Sudie, you're an angel and a model of good- 
 ness, but you do not know anything of modern 
 society. " 
 
 Mrs. Buckman retaliated by declaring that she 
 would never call on Mrs. General or on Dulcie 
 while she was at Paradise. She said they did not 
 belong there. Her husband coolly retorted that, 
 if he had had his way, Dulcie would still be with
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 199 
 
 them and that he should certainly visit her and 
 console her all he could. He put on his best white 
 duck suit the next afternoon and went to dinner. 
 Mrs. Buckman spent a sorrowful and prayerful 
 night and then determined to extend the olive 
 branch of peace. Accordingly, she also put on her 
 best array and suddenly swooped down upon the 
 two women. 
 
 Never in its palmiest days had Paradise been so 
 beautiful. It was gay with awnings, ornamented 
 with palms and ferns and roses in great pots and 
 green tubs as well as blooming in the garden. 
 There were bamboo couches and chairs, swing- 
 ing divans with dozens of silken cushions, straw 
 mats and rugs in gayest colors about the terrace. 
 An electric fan kept up a delightful whir, and, 
 in the subdued light on the eastern terrace, sat 
 Mrs. General in a white lace gown that left little 
 to be imagined as to a pair of plump shoulders 
 and arms. 
 
 "Every day as old as I am," thought Mrs. 
 Buckman, "and dressed like that! Um-m-m!" 
 
 No wonder her really warm heart trembled for 
 Dulcie. Dulcie had been so carefully reared, and 
 lived so quietly, that Mrs. Buckman's face burn- 
 ed resentfully. She looked about for "the child" 
 as she thought of her, the child she had sheltered 
 and nursed to return to misery because misery 
 was her duty.
 
 200 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 But Dulcie was not easily carried away. She 
 came in from the rose-bushes a few moments 
 after. It was very warm, but the only concession 
 Dulcie had made to the weather was in a thin 
 white waist with a bit of lace at the throat. She 
 was unfeignedly glad to see "Aunt Sudie" and 
 fairly clung to her. Mrs. General really liked and 
 admired Dulcie, and it gave her a pang of jeal- 
 ousy to see how she held to this faded woman 
 who had a superior air although she wore 
 clothes that Mrs. General knew would be pro- 
 nounced "dowdy" by her maid. 
 
 But Mrs. Buckman felt at once the subtle 
 changes in Dulcie, the little new graces and man- 
 nerisms caught up by constant intercourse with a 
 more conventional society. She saw the rounding 
 cheek, the youth reviving in the clear eyes. They 
 had stripped Care from "the child," were shield- 
 ing her, caring for her. For what future ? Mrs. 
 Buckman shuddered at her fears. 
 
 In her new anxieties Mrs. Buckman lost sight 
 of any olive branch intention. She had patience 
 through that night's supper, but, as soon as the 
 Colonel lit his pipe on the portico, she calmly told 
 him that she had been to see "that painted Jeze- 
 bel." 
 
 "That what?" exclaimed the Colonel, swal- 
 lowing smoke and choking. 
 
 " Mrs. Head that painted woman. I went
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 201 
 
 to see what she was like. You all are sending 
 Dulcie straight to perdition. She is much chang- 
 ed already. But that woman! What do you go 
 there for, Colonel ?" 
 
 "For the same reason everybody else goes," 
 retorted the Colonel, " and I do like your elegant 
 sentiments. What are we all coming to ? I told you 
 that I was going to stand by Dulcie and see her 
 free since she wants to be free. " 
 
 "What then?" asked his wife coolly. "What 
 comes after ? I suppose that Mrs. General will 
 take her off to Richmond for men to make game 
 of. Men never respect women who are divorced." 
 
 " I hope to God that Beardsley will marry her," 
 spit out the Colonel. " That will be the best thing. 
 I believe he means to do it. " 
 
 "It is all arranged, I suppose," cried Mrs. 
 Buckman bitterly; "off with one husband, on 
 with another! That is the modern life and the 
 modern society I don't know about, and, please 
 my Heavenly Father, I don't want to know about. 
 I can do nothing but pray for Dulcie, and for 
 you, Colonel yes, for you. " 
 
 Whereupon she left him to brood over such 
 angry thought that he sat on the portico until 
 midnight and then softly betook himself to the 
 down-stairs room to be spared angry tears and 
 recriminations.
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 MOST LOVE'S MERE FOLLY 
 
 IT can be truly said of Dulcie that at this time 
 her last state was worse than any other. In 
 three months' time she had been swept from 
 every mooring, carried away by a veritable whirl- 
 wind of Fate from all that was connected with her 
 past. The misery of her life at Glen Farm had 
 always modified by a great necessity for action. 
 There she was forced to move about, to urge the 
 negroes ir. house and field, to set her home aright 
 day after day, to almost fight for life, to be occu- 
 pied. Her sorrows had brought her genuine sym- 
 pathy and given her many friends whose words 
 and unspoken pity always nettled her but was yet 
 something sincere. Now she was sailing on un- 
 known seas. She slept in the morning until she 
 chose to awake. John's wife or small niece was at 
 hand to anticipate every want when she did rise. 
 Then there was always Mrs. General Head to
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN m 203 
 
 meet and encounter. Mrs. General's one idea was 
 keep Dulcie's mind from her troubles, but as yet to 
 she had not found the way. Mrs. Buckman's visit 
 and Dulcie's gladness at the sight of her was a 
 revelation. She was not actually fulfilling her 
 mission, and with Mrs. General the discovery of 
 a troublesome fact usually meant the promptest 
 action. 
 
 She ordered the trap after an unusually early 
 breakfast the very next morning and set off alone 
 into Grafton under a great white parasol. A re- 
 splendent being she was in lilac lawn and lace 
 and golden necklaces. Lucian was sitting on the 
 upper portico of the hotel. It must be confessed 
 that he was distinctly bored at the moment and 
 Mrs. General saw and understood. In a few mo- 
 ments he was riding beside her along the green 
 country roads and was talking very earnestly to 
 her with the parasol conveniently held between 
 the front seat and the rear. 
 
 An hour later Lucian, alone, entered the gates 
 of Paradise and Mrs. General, escorted by Beam- 
 er Van Wye, rode away to visit a small waterfall 
 to which she proposed to take a picnic party. 
 
 The terrace of Paradise, inviting enough, was 
 wholly deserted as Lucian mounted the steps. 
 For a second time in his life he had the feeling of 
 homesickness come over him. He resented the 
 loss of Paradise for himself, but what better
 
 204 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 could he do for Dulcie than to give her what he 
 wanted for himself? His quick glance saw cer- 
 tain improvements which could be done at once. 
 His eye passed from the house and terrace to the 
 lovely garden. It was Nature's own beauty spot. 
 Lucian's resolution was taken as suddenly as 
 most of his ideas materialized. Paradise must be 
 his own, his home. 
 
 The screen door fell to softly behind him. The 
 small reception-room, modernized under Mrs. 
 General's skilful hand was empty, also the care- 
 fully shaded dining-room. He heard the chatter 
 of the two black women on the rear porches. 
 Dulcie must be alone in the rooms above. He 
 hesitated a moment, then stepped slowly and 
 softly up the carpeted stairway that wound 
 around and came out in a large upper hall now 
 furnished as a sitting-room. Half-way up, he 
 heard a woman's sob. Alert, subtle, and with the 
 softest, stealthiest expression, Lucian Beardsley 
 crept forward. On a chintz-covered couch near 
 the open glass-door leading out to the gallery lay 
 Dulcie, her heart breaking in loneliness and sor- 
 row. In an abandon of grief she had thrown her- 
 self on the couch when Mrs. General first drove 
 away. 
 
 Without an instant's hesitation Lucian crept 
 forward. Not a sound was heard although he 
 seemed to breathe hard and quick. In his soul he
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 205 
 
 was cursing Fate that had given a woman such a 
 woe. His whole being was tossed in a stormy wave 
 of passion. Again he was held in the master grasp 
 of a savagery that claimed this woman and let 
 who dare come to interfere. He knelt beside her 
 and, before she could see who it was, he gathered 
 her to him with the low and pitiful cry: 
 
 "My poor little girl!" 
 
 There was a long silence. Outside a shrill bird 
 sang and mocked. Lucian's own eyes were wet 
 because of those terrible sobs that beat against his 
 very heart. There was a long silence and then 
 Dulcie sat up with a white face. 
 
 "O, what have I done ? What shall I do ?" 
 
 He was very gentle with her, gentle as a mother 
 to her weary child. 
 
 "Nothing, but I will do it all." 
 
 Dulcie shuddered. 
 
 " I will die, if something does not end it. Every 
 way is dark. Lucian, Lucian!" 
 
 She had never called him by his name be- 
 fore. 
 
 A great vein stood out on his forehead. 
 
 " Dulcie, answer me one question. Answer me 
 solemnly, honestly. Do you wish to go back ? 
 Make your decision now, once for all." 
 
 She stared at him blankly. 
 
 "You can go back. I will go away and never 
 return, never annoy you, but I can not bear your
 
 ao6 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 suffering. It must all end one way or the other, 
 and at once. I am but a man, Dulcie, and have 
 the full heart of a man, but I have had enough, 
 enough. Do you wish to return to Glen Farm ?" 
 
 A look of horror came into her eyes. 
 
 "I will die first." 
 
 "Then you must send in a divorce petition at 
 once. Never mind anything else. Say 'yes' or 
 'no' as you wish." 
 
 "Can't I just stay away, or go away ?" 
 
 "No!" he thundered, "he is your husband. 
 Think of that! It maddens me. You belong to 
 him. How do you suppose I feel when I think of 
 it ? You can play with facts no longer. Either do 
 that or I must go. " 
 
 " I would be all alone then it would be 
 worse. " 
 
 Her hair fell about her, her dress was dis- 
 ordered. He led her to the door of her room. 
 
 "Come out to me a little later," he said, his 
 voice shaking. "I surprised you. Forgive me. 
 Come out in a quarter of an hour when you have 
 braided your hair." 
 
 But it was much longer ere Dulcie came out to 
 him. There was a trembling light in her eyes and 
 they avoided his gaze. 
 
 "What do you wish me to do, cousin?" she 
 asked quite quietly. "I will do as you think best. 
 Remember how silly I am. Why why with
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 207 
 
 a trembling in her voice, " I am so afraid of Mrs. 
 General even. " 
 
 He took her hand and led her to a seat. 
 
 "But not of me?" 
 
 "Ah, no." 
 
 " Because some day I will tell you 
 that you must not be afraid of me. I am trying 
 now to think what is best for you. You will do as 
 your friends wish ?" 
 
 "O yes it seems that there is no other way." 
 
 "Then you will get that petition at once, and 
 I want you to go away with Mrs. General and to 
 think of other things. Later we will have visitors 
 - you must look well. Mrs. General solemnly 
 assures me that new gowns are the best distrac- 
 tions a woman can have. Please absorb yourself 
 in gowns. I also wish you could like Mrs. Gen- 
 eral. She will guard you and I can trust her. Do 
 have some spirit and hold up your head. You are 
 innocent of any wrong, Dulcie. " 
 
 She flushed rosy red now. 
 
 "Will you ever be a woman ? One would think 
 you a child and you are surely twenty-six or 
 twenty-seven. There, do not look so sorrowful. 
 Come here to me." 
 
 She rose and they walked to the window. He 
 still held her hand. 
 
 " Do you trust me ? Do you believe in my 
 great desire to make you happier ?"
 
 ao8 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 She raised her eyes to him suddenly. They 
 blazed with reproach. 
 
 "Who have I but you ? The dear old Colonel 
 but he is so hampered. Aunt Sudie " but her 
 voice broke. 
 
 "Hear me, Dulcie. Only wait. Maybe some 
 day you will say that your old world is well lost. " 
 
 The trap with the lawyer and Mrs. General 
 drove up an hour later. Lucian calmly handed 
 Beamer Van Wye a paper as he sank into a 
 chair and motioned John for some liquid re- 
 freshment. The older man read with a placid 
 face but curious eyes. He then passed it with a 
 courtly bow to Mrs. General. 
 
 "I have ordered luncheon," observed Lu- 
 cian. " My cousin will be here in a moment. And 
 I must see Summers about those horses." 
 
 Then he hurried away. 
 
 Mrs. General closed the white parasol and 
 smiled as she bent over the bamboo table on 
 which the paper lay. 
 
 "Well," observed the lawyer, "that was a 
 prompt piece of work, wasn't it ?" 
 
 Mrs. General smiled sweetly. 
 
 "If you and I were fifteen and twelve, my dear 
 Mr. Van Wye, we would probably say that 
 things looked as if two friends of ours had kissed 
 and made up." 
 
 "Humph!" replied Beamer Van Wye, "and I
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 209 
 
 should retort that there is also truth in an old 
 proverb about promises and pie crust. She vowed 
 she never would do it, you know, and that not so 
 very long ago. As far as I am concerned, I see 
 nothing else for her, although, as a matter of 
 principle, my dear Mrs. General, I am unalter- 
 ably opposed to divorces."
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 LORD, WE KNOW WHAT WE ARE BUT NOT WHAT 
 WE MAY BE 
 
 MRS. BUCKMAN sat alone on the wide 
 portico at Broad Acres. She was pale 
 and her lips were set more firmly than 
 ever. She was at her lace work, one of the pastimes 
 she loved, but to-day she did not make much pro- 
 gress. Often the needle was still, the pattern lay 
 in her lap. She looked down the avenue, waiting 
 miserably on events, but as unrelenting toward 
 them as a cowled monk. 
 
 The Colonel had put on his " court day suit " 
 without explanation and gone to Middletown 
 that morning. He had not come to her to fix his 
 collar or tie, and this augured the worst. For the 
 first time in his life he had also failed to ask her 
 for a list of household needs, but mounted into the 
 buggy with only a farewell wave of the hand. 
 Mrs. Buckman did not doubt but the negroes 
 knew all about their master's errand. They gen- 
 
 210
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 erally knew all the county affairs and long before 
 the dwellers in the large houses. She knew of the 
 stealthy figures that slipped from farm to farm 
 at night, tapping at windows, whispering 
 through half-opened doors, lazy at everything 
 else but tireless at carrying bits of news which 
 would make others gape and cry out. Probably 
 the negroes knew what the Colonel's errand was, 
 every one of them. 
 
 All day she sat alone, eating her luncheon in 
 solitary state, taking the semblance of her after- 
 noon nap, then making her careful toilet to sit 
 upon the portico at three o'clock. At this hour 
 visitors were apt to come, carriages full of women 
 and children, sometimes young folks or a depot 
 wagon of men driving up to see the Colonel's 
 horses. To-day the place seemed deserted and 
 Mrs. Buckman felt it strangely. 
 
 After a time a slow cart creaked up the avenue. 
 It contained 'Nondas, one of the stablemen. He 
 stopped below in spite of her frown. 
 
 "'Clar to Gawd, Mis' Sudie," he began, 
 touch his old hat, "'clar to Gawd dat Mis' Dul- 
 cie done gone back to Glen Farm riding like 
 mad." 
 
 Mrs. Buckman's reserve forsook her. She ac- 
 tually ran down the steps to him. 
 
 "Where did you see her, man ?" 
 
 "Mekin' de turn, ha'r flyin', ridin* a black
 
 212 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 boss. I dunno, but she war gwine dar ter de farm, 
 an* no mistake erbout dat. " 
 
 Mrs. Buckman's soul was at once uplifted. A 
 pink colour rushed into her face. Her lips moved 
 and what she said was: 
 
 "And though after my skin worms destroy 
 this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God." 
 
 "Scriptur er not, she went right dar," declared 
 'Nondas; "I seen 'er. But de doctah he gwine ter 
 town. Guess he knowed what's gwine on. Funny 
 dem folks let Mis' Dulcie go obah dar all alone. 
 Been so keerful ob her sence she war stoled erway 
 dat time." 
 
 Mrs. Buckman returned to her chair in a 
 tumult of feeling. She had mistaken the moral 
 strength in Dulcie. It was there. She had gone 
 back to martyrdom. And this woman who would 
 not lift her hand to draw her away still mur- 
 mured fond prayers for her safety. 
 
 An hour passed, a warm, drowsy hour. Then, 
 between the sunshine and the greensward, riding 
 like a young goddess on a thoroughbred mare, 
 came the woman of Mrs. Buckman's thoughts. 
 She wore her old black riding gown and her hat, 
 and her gloves were white at the seams. On her 
 breast was a great knot of freshly-plucked red 
 roses. 
 
 Mrs. Buckman met her at the foot of the steps 
 and gave a sharp call for a boy to take the horse.
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 213 
 
 Then she put her arm around Dulcie and led her 
 up to the chairs. 
 
 "I'm so glad you came! You have been at the 
 farm, haven't you ? Are you going back ? The 
 doctor is away, I know. " 
 
 Dulcie's eyes were wide open with a great 
 amazement and distress at once. 
 
 "Aunt Sudie, Aunt Sudie!" she cried, "you 
 surely cannot ask me to go back there after all 
 you know. Or maybe you knew all that before. 
 You can't ask me to go back now." 
 
 The passion of horror in her voice thrilled her 
 hearer. 
 
 " I thought I thought " she stammered, con- 
 fused and angry at herself for her mistaken ideas. 
 
 "Thought I had gone back?" cried Dulcie. 
 "No, no, never! I will go to the creek and drown 
 myself first. No, I came to say good-bye to you, 
 Aunt Sudie. Indeed, I ran away to say good-bye 
 to Glen Farm and you. " 
 
 The older woman pressed her arm in anguish. 
 
 "To say good-bye ?" she echoed miserably; 
 "to say good-bye ?" 
 
 Dulcie drew herself up with an effort. 
 
 "I ran away when Mrs. General had visitors 
 from Lexington. I could not talk to them to-day. 
 I took the new horse and came out here. " 
 
 She breathed heavily for a moment. 
 
 "I wanted to see the graves, my father's and
 
 2i 4 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 the babies'. They are all weed-grown now. I 
 plucked these roses there. They are like blood, 
 so red this year. I said good-bye to those graves, 
 but some day I will come back to them. " 
 
 Mrs. Buckman nodded her head. 
 
 "I went to tell my father and tell them that I 
 could have died there but that I could not live 
 that way. They know now and they will not 
 blame me. I am only human." 
 
 "What are you going to do ?" 
 
 "I do not know just yet. They are all very 
 kind and do my thinking for me. There is no 
 care, no worry, but it is strange yet. " 
 
 "Do you like it?" whispered Mrs. Buckman, 
 "do you really like it ?" 
 
 The woman she consulted looked from side to 
 side helplessly. 
 
 "I am homesick all the time," she replied in a 
 low tone, "homesick and heart-sick. Yet I could 
 not go back. Something has changed, and to 
 come back that could never be. " 
 
 Mrs. Buckman drew Dulcie by her sleeve to a 
 seat. 
 
 "Dulcie, let us guide you and guard you. The 
 Colonel will take you away and our good Bishop 
 will find a place for you to stay until all these 
 feelings have passed. Then, after a time, you will 
 have more strength to do your duty here among 
 your friends."
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 215 
 
 Dulcie looked up at her for a long time. Then 
 she said, in a strange and scoffing voice: 
 
 " I believe you really think that I ought to go 
 back to Dr. DeWitt as if nothing had happened. 
 You've sent me back so many times." 
 
 Mrs. Buckman paled. 
 
 " I cannot see your duty any other way, Dul- 
 cie." 
 
 "Duty to others is not everything. Do I not 
 have a duty to myself, Aunt Sudie ? Am I to have 
 no respect for myself? Am I to overlook the 
 wrongs to others, to innocent and ignorant chil- 
 dren who might be born if I do my duty ? No, 
 you are wrong, you are wrong! God gave me a 
 body and a soul. If marriage made the doctor and 
 me one, Sin has divorced us, and Sin not of my 
 seeking. I will take my soul and go on alone." 
 
 Mrs. Buckman clasped Dulcie in her arms. 
 
 "I am afraid," she murmured, "afraid for 
 you." 
 
 "Afraid of what ? Afraid I have forgotten all I 
 feel, think and know ? Afraid I will forget that I 
 am my father's daughter ? Afraid that I will do 
 wrong for position or money or ease ? How little 
 you know me, Aunt Sudie, how little you trust 
 me!" 
 
 "Then why turn away from your old friends 
 for these new and strange ones ?" 
 
 "I think the others turned from me in most
 
 ai6 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 cases," said Dulcie, "and these new ones from 
 the outer world are not afraid to take the trouble 
 to protect me. To the rest of you I am and have 
 been a continued scandal and worry in the 
 neighbourhood. It could only end in worse scan- 
 dal and worry. Any way I look at it, life is dark 
 and wrong. I try to choose the least wrongs now 
 that I understand. Aunt Sudie, I grope like a 
 child." 
 
 Her hearer's eyes were wet. 
 
 "The door will open. When the Lord shuts one 
 door, he opens another. " 
 
 "Then why," cried Dulcie, "why does he 
 make the Christian people so hard on me and the 
 others so kind ?" 
 
 Mrs. Buckman stared. 
 
 "Dulcie, Dulcie, don't you see? Don't you 
 know ? Has your trouble taken your wits ? You 
 are a woman long grown, with much experience 
 and trouble. Do you suppose Mr. Beardsley is 
 doing all this out of mere kindness and from a 
 mere desire to aid a very distant relative ?" 
 
 Dulcie sat erect, slim and lovely. Little translu- 
 cent lights played about the roots of her hair. In 
 her large eyes was an expression like the light on 
 a sword blade. Her lips were a scornful scarlet 
 bow. 
 
 " Perhaps you've always been good to me in 
 a way perhaps, Aunt Sudie, you will explain."
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 217 
 
 But Mrs. Buckman shrank away and parried 
 the question. 
 
 " Is it reasonable to suppose that a man of the 
 world like him will take so much trouble for mere 
 kindness ?" 
 
 "Don't you question me!" cried the young 
 woman in a fury of anger, "but tell me right out 
 now. What do you mean ?" 
 
 "I believe," retorted Mrs. Buckman, "that 
 he's been in love with you in his way since 
 the day he struck the doctor for you." 
 
 Dulcie sat perfectly still for a moment, then 
 she rallied and faced Mrs. Buckman. 
 
 "And I," she said coldly, "I believe his great 
 heart spoke and told him how much I suffered 
 and how alone and helpless I really was. I be- 
 lieve God raised him up for my cause. I believe 
 there is a God for those who suffer long and pa- 
 tiently. I believe Lucian is true in his endeavours 
 to make me happier, and that all he has said or 
 done is in great kindness." 
 
 "Then you've gone blind," retorted the older 
 woman. "We all see it plainly." 
 
 Dulcie rose and gathered up her skirt. 
 
 "You do me a very great honor then. Think of 
 the women he has seen and will see. Only yes- 
 terday he had all the Woodruffs and the Wrights 
 and the Harters out on a picnic jaunt. You know 
 Sally Harter, how pretty she is. He said last night
 
 218 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 that she was the handsomest girl he had ever 
 seen. You ought to be ashamed, Aunt Sudie. I 
 am old and worn and sorrowful and sad. A man 
 doesn't feel anything like love for such a pitiful 
 sort of creature. He is only sorry, only sorry. " 
 
 Then suddenly she wheeled around. 
 
 "But I came to say good-bye. I know you are 
 against it all. I came to say good-bye to my child- 
 hood, my wifehood, my children's graves and you 
 all. It is all over, Aunt Sudie, stone dead, and we 
 are going to bury it as decently as we can. I 
 might as well tell that this morning Mr. Beard- 
 sley, the Colonel and Mr. Van Wye went to Mid- 
 dletown with my petition for a divorce. So good- 
 bye, Aunt Sudie, for I never will come to Broad 
 Acres again unless you send for me. I just wanted 
 to say good-bye to you with all the other things 
 of the old life." 
 
 Half-way down the avenue a galloping figure 
 met her, drew rein and rode out slowly beside her. 
 And, although Mrs. Buckman could not see very 
 clearly for the blinding tears in her eyes, she felt 
 quite sure that it was a tall and gallant figure 
 with eager eyes and a mien that invited no inter- 
 ference. 
 
 That night Mrs. General insisted that Para- 
 dise must be illuminated. The lamps were all lit, 
 Beamer Van Wye and the Colonel's horses were 
 stabled until a late hour, the terrace resounded
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 219 
 
 with gay voices and laughter. Dulcie herself 
 yielded to Lucian's persuasions to wear some- 
 thing besides a black gown. She had only an old, 
 washed-out white one, but she wore the red roses 
 on her breast. There was not a word said as to 
 the events of the day, but Mrs. General's infect- 
 ious spirits and unflagging entertainment made it 
 almost a festival. 
 
 Lucian, handsome as a prince in his dinner 
 dress, kept her company in her wit and repartee. 
 He could have screamed at any time with a 
 species of hysterical laughter. Since he had set 
 out after Dulcie that afternoon he had been up- 
 set. The only fear of his life had then clutched at 
 his heart. Had she gone back to Glen Farm and 
 to that man ? Dulcie had not known, but to Mrs. 
 General he said, when she left them on the ter- 
 race: 
 
 " I thought she had gone back. I am completely 
 unnerved. " 
 
 Mrs. General merely replied: 
 
 "We must get her away in the morning. But 
 your Kentucky women can keep one's hands full. 
 I am amazed at her real daring and spirit. " 
 
 "I am always amazed at her danger," said 
 Lucian. "She never seemed to remember that 
 Dr. DeWitt might have returned while she was 
 there. I really feel that Providence took care of 
 her."
 
 210 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 Mrs. General Head laughed softly. 
 
 "Lucian, I never knew you serious before," 
 she said, " and when do you think the letter will 
 come from your brother Fordyce ? I do really 
 need reinforcements." 
 
 About eleven o'clock Lucian drew Dulcie out 
 into the garden. 
 
 "It is moonlight," he said, "it is lovely moon- 
 light, and there are lovelier roses. I want to say 
 something to you before you go away. " 
 
 She flitted before him, singularly elusive and 
 aloof. 
 
 "Do not let us go very far," she soon said, 
 "for you know I like to hear voices. Let us stop 
 here." 
 
 This was a new mood. 
 
 "You will hear voices enough to-morrow. Now 
 promise me to do all I ask of you. " 
 
 "Hardly that," she replied after a little wait, 
 "for we see life from such different standpoints, 
 cousin. But I will try to please you of course. " 
 
 "First, let Mrs. General provide you with a 
 suitable wardrobe. You must make a different 
 appearance. Next, will you write me a letter 
 every other day ? I shall be very lonely. I want 
 you to stay away a month or two as we are to 
 make some changes here. I have bought Para- 
 dise." 
 
 Her face flushed.
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 221 
 
 "Next, enjoy yourself. I believe that Mrs. 
 General has a plan of campaign to one or two 
 of the Northern lake resorts. No one will know 
 you, so cast off all care. Let the past go, and look 
 forward. You will need all the strength you can 
 muster when you return. It is hard to tell what 
 Dr. DeWitt will do with the aid of those scoun- 
 drels at Middletown. 
 
 Dulcie moved uneasily and then raised her 
 eyes. He read a mute protest. 
 
 "What is it, Dulcie?" 
 
 " I do not want to go unless you think it best. 
 I am always afraid of Mrs. General. She is kind, 
 too kind. But I will go." 
 
 " It is much the best, " said Lucian very grave- 
 ly. " You will understand later on, and know Mrs. 
 General better by the time you return. Please 
 trust her and do obey her. Do not go off on any 
 more impulsive jaunts like that one this after- 
 noon. All will be right in the end." 
 
 Dulcie moved restlessly toward the house. 
 
 "You seem anxious to get in. We will return. 
 Will you not say good-bye to me ? Come here. " 
 
 But this time she remained motionless. 
 
 "Come, little cousin." 
 
 At once Dulcie began to walk toward the 
 house. 
 
 " Really, I must go in. " 
 
 He caught up with her.
 
 222 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "Without any word for me? I never fancied 
 you were cruel. Haven't you a word for me ?" 
 
 Her hands shook as she fingered the red roses. 
 
 "Dulcie!" 
 
 But she turned resolutely and flung the words 
 back at him. 
 
 " I am not free let me take my soul and go."
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 IN THE DARK BACKGROUND AND ABYSM OF TIME 
 
 BACK and forth as the dust flew on the 
 white roads, as the corn grew tall and 
 the summer waned, went the whirlwind 
 of gossip from one end of the country to the other. 
 Never had there been a more fruitful theme than 
 the DeWitt trouble, and every day there seemed 
 a new phase or development. It was now the 
 repairs and changes at Paradise and the absence 
 of Mrs. General Head and Dulcie, again some 
 one in Middleport had seen some one else who 
 knew of their stay in Chicago and at the Wis- 
 consin lake resorts. Dulcie's wardrobe and beauty 
 were sensationally enlarged upon and the news 
 flew about how Mrs. General was bringing her 
 forward in every society. All Grafton was inter- 
 ested in the magic of Lucian Beardsley's money. 
 It was wild excitement to the people to watch the 
 workmen from Cincinnati and Lexington and 
 223
 
 224 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 Louisville, to see boxes and packages and barrels 
 arrive by every train, to wonder at the cost of 
 things and to admire or envy the owner. Lucian 
 was busy, happily busy, and, in his improve- 
 ments, he enjoyed the advice, suggestions and 
 full approval of Colonel Buckman and the 
 lawyer, Beamer Van Wye. 
 
 In these changes the real romance of Beamer 
 Van Wye's life was somewhat disclosed. The 
 former owner of Paradise had been the impov- 
 erished father of Jessie Le Due, once his be- 
 trothed. His continued poverty and his defeat 
 for the state legislature in bygone days induced 
 the father to carry the girl abroad. Beamer was 
 helpless because of the increasing infirmities of 
 an aged father, and when he was at last free 
 Jessie Le Due had wedded a petty Italian noble, 
 although to the last she had declared her love 
 and preference for her American lover. In Para- 
 dise the dearest days of the lawyer's youth had 
 been spent, his fondest hopes born; and there also 
 had been the terrible tragedy of the parting. 
 After hearing this story, Lucian ceased to invite 
 the lawyer to view each little improvement and 
 modification. He came, however, of his own ac- 
 cord, and begged his friend and benefactor not 
 to mind him, for he knew now that it was all for 
 the best, but the gardens were little disturbed 
 and more on his account than on any other.
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 225 
 
 By the first of September Lucian Beardsley 
 viewed with satisfaction a new Paradise. A cor- 
 nice added much to the front of the house, and 
 the terrace had a light balustrade and corner 
 posts to which the awnings were hooked. To the 
 left of the main building was a wire-screened 
 summer dining-room overhanging the slope into 
 the rose garden. To the right and the rear had 
 been thrown out a long wing and a pillared 
 piazza. The house was dazzling in a new coat 
 of white paint, and there were green shutters at 
 every window. The terrace was beautiful with 
 potted plants such as Grafton had never seen, and 
 on the steps, when the sun went down, were 
 spread prayer rugs from Eastern looms. 
 
 The interior of the house was thrown into a 
 suite of fine rooms, but the long wing was sepa- 
 rated by sliding doors from the main building, 
 and in this wing Lucian took up his abode as 
 soon as possible, giving his entire time to 
 the improvements. On the upper floor of this 
 wing and of the old portion were arranged a half- 
 dozen bed-rooms and bath-rooms for which an 
 engine continually lifted water into a high tank. 
 Three cottages had been constructed for the serv- 
 ants early in the summer. 
 
 On the fifteenth day of September, save for a 
 few minor details, Paradise stood ready for its 
 occupants. The Colonel and the lawyer dined
 
 Z1 6 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 with Lucian in the evening. They came in while 
 he was full of exhilaration and anxious to escort 
 them over the whole place for perhaps the twen- 
 tieth time. He was so full of the improvements 
 that he did not notice their gravity. They dined 
 in the outdoor room on the best that their host 
 could offer, and later they sat upon the terrace 
 with good cigars and wine beside them. 
 
 Suddenly he caught a piteous entreaty in the 
 old Colonel's eyes and an expression that smote 
 him like a weapon. 
 
 "What is it, Colonel?" he asked quietly. 
 
 The Colonel flushed and stammered, coughed 
 and looked helplessly at the lawyer. 
 
 "Out with it," repeated Lucian. "I noticed 
 that you were silent at the dinner table. Out with 
 it!" 
 
 Beamer Van Wye cleared his throat. 
 
 "DeWitt," was all he said. 
 
 Lucian lit a cigar. 
 
 " He is going to file a cross petition. " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "And is not content with gross neglect of duty 
 as a cause." 
 
 "Mrs. DeWitt was too lenient in hers." he 
 continued slowly. 
 
 Lucian set his teeth. 
 
 "Well, what has he done? We can amend 
 our petition if need be. "
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 217 
 
 "The mischiefs done," breathed the Colonel 
 hoarsely; " it's done and well done. " 
 
 Lucian felt as if cold steel had been driven into 
 his very vitals. 
 
 "Well, tell it." 
 
 " He is going to apply for a divorce himself. " 
 
 "And?" 
 
 " Has named you as the cause. " 
 
 Lucian jumped up and smote the table madly. 
 
 "Beamer! Colonel! the poor girl, the poor 
 girl! Whose work is this ?" 
 
 Beamer Van Wye laughed bitterly. 
 
 "It is that scoundrel Graham, Anson Gra- 
 ham. It is because you have money. You might 
 have foreseen it." 
 
 "He must have his price. What can we do ?" 
 
 " Stop it or fight it out. " 
 
 "How can it be stopped ?" 
 
 Beamer Van Wye shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " As I tell you, he has his price. That is just why 
 he let me know to-day. He will go to Middle- 
 town with his petition to-morrow unless he hears 
 from me." 
 
 "The petition will not go to Middletown," 
 said Lucian tersely. 
 
 The lawyer drummed on the table. 
 
 "It is a mere question of money, " broke in the 
 Colonel still more huskily, "but, Beardsley, for 
 God's sake do pay it, do pay it. I cannot just
 
 ii8 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 now and she cannot. She will be about penni- 
 less anyhow. I believe you are a man. On my 
 knees yes," he sobbed, "on my knees I ask 
 you to pay it. I think of her father of my 
 wife of all of us only pay for it. " 
 
 Lucian listened, with the lawyer's eyes on his 
 drawn face. Presently he rang the bell on the table. 
 
 "The drag, John," he said, "and the best 
 team, the rugs and other heavy covers for a long 
 ride. How far is it to this man's house, gentle- 
 men?" 
 
 "Nine miles," replied the lawyer; "he is be- 
 tween Grafton and Middletown." 
 
 "Nine or ninety, we will see him. Excuse me 
 until I get my check-book. Or perhaps it better 
 be cash. What say you ?" 
 
 "All will be one to Graham," said the lawyer, 
 "but shall we not plan out something first ?" 
 
 Lucian Beardsley struck the table again with 
 his fist. 
 
 "Plan!" he cried, "there is no plan needed. 
 Either he sets his price, takes the money and 
 tears up Dr. DeWitt's petition, or or " and 
 he shook his head wildly. 
 
 "DeWitt may come in again." 
 
 "DeWitt!" broke in the Colonel derisively. 
 "He has probably forgotten he was ever advised 
 by Graham to fight. He has no memory left. He is 
 only a poor tool. "
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 219 
 
 "It looks mighty cowardly," said the Colonel. 
 "It looks" 
 
 "Hush!" said Lucian Beardsley. "Look at 
 this." 
 
 He took a cablegram from his pocket and 
 threw it onto the table. It was in cipher, but the 
 translation was written out below. 
 
 Beamer Van Wye opened it and read aloud : 
 
 "We will reach New York on the twenty- 
 second and immediately start for Kentucky, 
 Evelyn and myself, man, maid, baby and his 
 nurse. Fordyce Beardsley." 
 
 "Which means," commented the Virginian, 
 "that, on receipt of late letters, my good brother 
 comes over at once to our kinswoman's rescue 
 and he brings his wife. It means that Dulcie 
 will have more supporters and that, the battle 
 over, she can return to England with them if she 
 will go." 
 
 "And then?" queried the Colonel anxiously. 
 
 "I shall go over. The future lies in Dulcie's 
 hands. But you can see why a thousand 
 whys this matter must go our way. Else - 
 else it is to ruin everything and everybody. " 
 
 They rode fast through the night, these three 
 men, as they had once gone before, rode to gloss 
 over a wrong done by another and that a woman 
 might not know and suffer greater wrong. The 
 one was a stout and red-faced horseman of no
 
 230 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 particular presence and a great deal of obstinate 
 goodness. Another was a man whose heart and 
 ambition was dead because of the one woman he 
 had loved and lost; the youngest was a man only 
 now awaking to life's sternest aspect, and as 
 determined as death. As in olden times knights 
 went forth to rescue, so went these three moderns, 
 no less pure of purpose. Far away Dulcie calmly 
 slept. In the light amusement of her days the 
 past seemed only a dreadful dream. Mrs. Gener- 
 al had been wise. The young woman's repressed 
 youth conquered. Change of scene, and new, 
 cheerful faces had relieved Dulcie's mind from 
 its strain. Once more she smiled and almost for- 
 got her sorrows. 
 
 Sometimes, in his after Kfe, Beamer Van Wye 
 looked back upon the events of that night. He re- 
 membered the long ride, the loud baying of the 
 hounds in Graham's house-lot, the spirited call 
 for him, and even the spurt of a match as a lamp 
 was lit in the room above the front porch. He re- 
 membered an anxious wait while Anson Graham 
 rose, dressed and came out to them. The men 
 were out of the drag and John drove down to the 
 gate out of hearing. 
 
 " I am here in reply to your letter, " said Van 
 Wye coldly. 
 
 "I ruther expected you all," returned the 
 drawling voice of Graham, "not so late though."
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 231 
 
 "We did not care to be seen coming any ear- 
 lier," broke in Lucian haughtily. "Now proceed 
 to business. I will not haggle with you. What's 
 your price or DeWitt's price or both ?" 
 
 " Come now, Mr. Beardsley. " 
 
 "I'm not here to talk. Name the figure. That 
 petition must not go in. I don't mind saying I'll 
 kill both of you before it shall go in. Name your 
 figure. If I don't like it and won't pay it, I'll say 
 so and you can look out for yourself. " 
 
 Graham shivered between his fear and his 
 avarice. 
 
 "You're powerful quick. We all have got a 
 mighty good case though, Mr. Beardsley, so you 
 all must expect a good figure. DeWitt will go 
 elsewhere with it unless I stop him, you see. He 
 must be quieted down and made to feel real good 
 or he'll not be satisfied. We will take a couple of 
 thousand, Mr. Beardsley, and that hoss he's been 
 wanting, the one you all bought, Kentucky 
 Cupid, ain't it ?" 
 
 Lucian laughed scornfully. 
 
 "You'll never get the horse, Graham, for he is 
 out of my hands now and goes to England. Try 
 again." 
 
 "Well, if we don't get the horse it's moah like a 
 cool five thousand we want. DeWitt wants the 
 horse. " 
 
 Lucian repeated his dreadful laugh.
 
 ZJ2 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 " How are you going to account for him or you 
 having so much of my money ? You've got a rep- 
 utation for rascality now. Well, have you got that 
 petition here ? Get it out and let's close the bar- 
 gain. No, I will not darken your door. Bring out 
 a lamp and some paper. I have a fountain pen. 
 We want a paper from you, duly signed and wit- 
 nessed though, that DeWitt withdraws this pe- 
 tition because he got his share of five thousand 
 dollars." 
 
 "What are you all going to do with that leetle 
 paper?" said Graham uneasily. 
 
 "You'll see it if DeWitt ever comes up again 
 in this matter, Graham," broke in Van Wye. 
 "You are paid, like any other servant, to keep 
 DeWitt from doing anything more. Mrs. DeWitt 
 is to have her divorce and no defence is to be 
 made. See ? In short, you are now retained on our 
 side and a nice slice of luck it is for you. It will 
 pay off your mortgage, won't it?" 
 
 Graham growled ominously. 
 
 "Is it a bargain or not ?" continued Van Wye. 
 "We are not at all afraid, Graham, but we wish 
 to spare the name of a poor woman whose suffer- 
 ing ought to appeal to the sympathy of every 
 man. Her kinsfolk are willing to pay you for 
 peace, that is all. Hurry up now!" 
 
 The paper was finally signed and the ride back 
 was one of silence. Above them proceeded the
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 233 
 
 great panorama of the morning planets and stars, 
 about them lay silent and shadowy farms and 
 houses, woodland and hillslope. The Colonel 
 dozed, his head on his chest, the lawyer was 
 silent, and Lucian Beardsley respected their 
 wishes. As he left the Grafton lawyer and the 
 Colonel at his gate, the former put out a slim 
 hand and shook his own. 
 
 " Beardsley to the rescue! Money and the mod- 
 ern knight. You have certainly done much for 
 the heroine, and may you all live happy ever 
 after!"
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 
 HERE IS MY JOURNEY'S END 
 
 ALL Grafton woke in a quiver of excite- 
 ment one November day. Was not this 
 the time set for the hearing of the 
 DeWitt divorce case ? Was not every one who 
 could raise what Linas facetiously called "the 
 price," going down on the morning train to 
 Middletown to see what could be seen and to 
 hear what could be heard ? Had not Henry 
 Swayne kept excitement at fever heat by inti- 
 mating that "he and cousin Doc" might yet 
 spring a sensation that would "raise hair" ? Had 
 not Dr. DeWitt himself, money-flushed and 
 prowling wildly over the country by night, de- 
 clared in divers and sundry places that he did not 
 want the "little red-headed vixen" if she wanted 
 to be free, then, fickle-minded, declaring the 
 next time that he could knock the whole thing 
 " into a cocked hat if he cared to tell some things 
 234
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 235 
 
 he knew. " It is to be added that, at this juncture, 
 Linas usually told the doctor to "hesh right up er 
 git outen the bar-room" and that the doctor al- 
 ways subsided. In some way, equally mysterious, 
 it came to be understood that the doctor had been 
 pacified with money really "sold out"; that 
 he had also compromised on the Glen Farm 
 matter and was going to Mexico or California or 
 to Arizona or some far-off place to "set up again 
 and make some money" with one of his Middle- 
 port cronies. Once or twice he rode furiously 
 about Paradise at night and rumour soon credited 
 the place with a night watchman, as it did with 
 all things possible that money could buy. Para- 
 dise looked gay enough these days with the 
 "swells" that came from England as well as 
 from the East. There were English servants and 
 innovations that made life at Grafton "one long 
 tattling dream" according to Beamer Van Wye. 
 The lawyer had somehow acquired several new 
 coats and a hat that passed muster. He was the 
 devoted intimate of Lucian Beardsley and 
 amused Mrs. General Head beyond any possi- 
 bility of ennui. Mrs. General had returned, tri- 
 umphant, to welcome the English Beardsleys. 
 She brought back a new Dulcie, at least one 
 transformed in appearance. She had a figure, be- 
 coming clothing, and better health. Some timidity 
 still remained as the result of her last and most
 
 ZJ 6 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 dreadful experience, but Mrs. General thought 
 it not unbecoming and it certainly aided the 
 youthfulness of her appearance. 
 
 On this autumn morning, when the brown 
 fields were disclosing their bareness with the 
 lifting of subtle mists, there dashed up to the 
 ugly yellow railway station at Grafton a party 
 whose coming was expected by a hundred open- 
 eyed people. Two carriages there were, a goodly 
 show among a half-dozen other substantial 
 vehicles from outlying country places. From 
 the high drag first descended the splendid Mrs. 
 General Head, appropriately attired in subdued 
 and elegant black, with a picture hat and a full 
 boa of ostrich feathers that took ten years from 
 her age. . Next came down Lady Emily, that 
 plain blonde noblewoman of old England, who 
 had more of a maternal air toward the whole 
 party than Mrs. General; and thirdly, the 
 heroine of the occasion, a slim, tailor-made 
 creature whose new appearance made her towns- 
 people stare and wince. Was this " Mis' DeWitt, 
 that poor leetle creetur" they had always known ? 
 O surely not, for this woman seemed young 
 and fair, and how her hair shone and her eyes 
 asked for kindness! Men swore a little and won- 
 dered why they had not done something for her 
 long' ago. 
 
 "Lord, but I've always loved her like thun-
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 237 
 
 der!" declared the Colonel that day; "her eyes 
 always begged me for something." 
 
 "They beg others," suggested the Lexington 
 lawyer, " and I calculate they ask the same thing 
 of Beardsley. When it's over, when it's safely 
 over, Van Wye, what is she going to do ?." 
 
 " Mrs. General talks of New York and New- 
 port and such places, and adds that, at least for 
 a while, she must see society." 
 
 " On his money ? O no, we can't let that go on, 
 you and I just can't. We'll talk to her, Beamer." 
 
 "The fleshpots of Egypt do agree with her," 
 observed the lawyer, watching blue smoke rings 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "She has got her feet in snares, my wife says, 
 and she's 'most always right. I do hate to treat 
 Beardsley badly. He will offer to marry her at 
 once I suppose." 
 
 "No, he shall not." 
 
 The lawyer leaned over and whispered. The 
 Colonel's face lit up. 
 
 "I'll go you," he said, "and she will back us 
 up or I'm not one of her best and oldest friends." 
 
 As the group from Paradise waited on the 
 platform the Manifold carriage drove bravely 
 up. It had been "done up" for the occasion and 
 shone in the sun with new paint and varnish. 
 Peter was beyond criticism in a Prince Albert 
 coat that made him look like a preacher, and a
 
 ij8 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 tall silk hat that was at once the instant envy 
 of every negro in Grafton. Kitty May also was 
 in high feather. Her gown had come from Cin- 
 cinnati, her hat from Chicago, her gloves from 
 New York. This combination, the result of 
 mail orders, was most gratifying to Kitty. Even 
 Mrs. General Head put up her lorgnette and 
 said to Dulcie: 
 
 "My love, will you please look at Mrs. Mani- 
 fold?" 
 
 Dulcie did not only look at Mrs. Manifold, 
 but she fled to her and was clasped in her arms. 
 
 "Darling Dulcie! You see we are all here 
 and I want to introduce my pa, Mr. John May. 
 You all know I said he would stand by you, 
 Dulcie, tooth and nail. And here he is to do it!" 
 
 A very fat, good-natured gentleman with a 
 right merry eye and a wheeze came up, followed 
 by Mammy Reba and the ubiquitous Eustace. 
 To every one's surprise he at once assumed such 
 a sort of good-natured command over every- 
 body and everything that it carried the day. 
 
 "Land o' me, it is hot for this time o' year! 
 Mrs. DeWitt, since you are cousin Dulcie to 
 my gal, I just will have to adopt you on the spot. 
 I'm the purely disinterested party that will 
 pilot you all right through the day if you all 
 will accept my escort." 
 
 "Law, pa, you are the biggest beau yet!"
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN z 39 
 
 cried Kitty May in sheer delight. "You hang 
 on to Pa, Dulcie D., and you will come out all 
 right. Pa is a power." 
 
 Beamer Van Wye nudged Lucian with his 
 elbow. 
 
 "Now what do you think of that ?" 
 
 Dulcie had succumbed to Mr. May after one 
 look into the kind, round face. 
 
 "No wonder Kitty May is such a dear," she 
 said, a little tremulously. 
 
 "It runs in the family," chuckled the old 
 gentleman, "so we will call it a bargain. Now 
 here comes the train. I hear we are to have a 
 special car which is very nice and swell. Shall 
 I give you my arm and just tuck Lady Em'ly 
 on the other side ? Don't you mind the crowd 
 a bit, my dears. I can't be shoved off my feet 
 easy, I tell you!" 
 
 It was a truly delectable sight to see Mr. John 
 May proudly escort the ladies to the Pull- 
 man car. The Congressman and Mrs. General 
 stared as they followed, Kitty May captured 
 Mr. Fordyce Beardsley with a smile, and the 
 Colonel, trailing along with the masculine ele- 
 ment in the rear, declared he'd be damned if 
 he had ever seen such infernal impudence in all 
 his life. 
 
 "He's saved the day," declared the lawyer, 
 "He always wins in a lawsuit it's in him,
 
 140 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 that's all. I never do go against him. He's had 
 about twenty suits in his life and he's won out 
 every time." 
 
 Later on the same party became the sole 
 occupants of a small and dusty room in the old 
 red brick court-house at Middletown. It was 
 still warm enough for impudent flies to buzz 
 noisily at the dirty windows and for the men to 
 sigh and mop their faces. There was a row of 
 wooden chairs along the wall and in these the 
 ladies sat while the men stood up or walked 
 about in an embarrassed, awkward uncertainty 
 as to what they ought to do or to say. Even Mrs. 
 General had no precedent, and she said so to 
 Kitty May as they took chairs at the end of the 
 line. 
 
 " I never was in a country court-house before 
 this, or at a divorce trial." 
 
 "I suppose not," returned Kitty May sym- 
 pathetically, "but it's just like having teeth 
 pulled. It will soon be over. I feel just like I was 
 at a funeral not of a real relative, you all 
 know, but of some one I had met, anyhow." 
 
 Mrs. General moved uneasily. 
 
 "I don't suppose that anything could go 
 wrong." 
 
 "Law, no!" returned Kitty May, "the men 
 have been watching things. But I can ask pa 
 he can find out."
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 241 
 
 She attacked her father, who was playing " Bo 
 peep" with Eustace. 
 
 "Could anything go wrong, pa ?" 
 
 He gave her a startled glance. 
 
 "God bless me, I hope not! I believe I better 
 go out and see how the land lays, hadn't I?" 
 and he hurried out. 
 
 In the meantime, in the corridor just without 
 the door, Peter Manifold, Colonel Buckman 
 and the lawyer were smoking and kicking at 
 the baseboards under a window. Their ex- 
 pressions were varied and not reassuring. Bea- 
 mer Van Wye had seen Anson Graham below 
 stairs and wondered if the man had any errand up 
 his sleeve that would mean a defence on the part 
 of Doctor DeWitt. It put him in a cold sweat. 
 
 "You never can tell just what a scoundrel 
 will do," the lawyer commented wisely. 
 
 From the court-room beyond there came 
 a monotonous hum of voices. Another case was 
 on, and presently loud sounds of weeping were 
 heard. John May thrust his head in at the door. 
 
 "Pah!" he said, and withdrew hastily. There 
 followed a frowsy country woman, who had, 
 for good reasons, been severed from a home 
 she had wantonly outraged for years. Wailing, 
 she passed along. 
 
 "Hardin Hovey's got his freedom," observed 
 Van Wye, "and we come next."
 
 242 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 He brushed his hair back from his brow and 
 passed into the court-room with an easy stride. 
 
 In the meantime Dulcie sat stupidly in her 
 wooden chair against the wall. Her heart beat 
 quickly and her pulses fluttered. She looked, 
 dumb and unseeing, at the objects and at people 
 about her. She could not believe or understand 
 that here was the hour of positive disruption, 
 here the moment that unloosed those bonds 
 and obligations she had taken on herself eight 
 years before. There appeared before her, as in 
 a picture, the moment of her marriage. She saw 
 herself in her white frock, her white-plumed 
 hat, entering the Grafton church on her father's 
 arm. She heard the low, sweet music that played 
 "Call Me Thine Own." She saw the doctor, 
 tall and well groomed, under the chancel light, 
 waiting. She heard herself say "I will," and 
 then something clutched her. It was Kitty 
 May, a little pale and with very pitiful, loving 
 eyes. 
 
 "Get ready, dear. Pa says the case is called. 
 Now hold right up." 
 
 The women crowded about, awe-filled. Lady 
 Emily took one of Dulcie's gloved hands. 
 
 Lucian and Fordyce Beardsley came in to- 
 gether. They glanced at the group and stood 
 over in a corner helplessly. Mrs. General Head 
 joined the women, and the Congressman, after
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 243 
 
 a word or two, went out into the court-room to 
 watch the proceedings. 
 
 Still the flies buzzed on the dirty panes, still 
 every one waited. It was hideously like expecting 
 a corpse to be brought into a room of mourners. 
 The Colonel put in his head and motioned to 
 the twins. They went out after him. In five 
 minutes Kitty May was discovered sobbing a 
 little. 
 
 " I wish some one would talk," she gasped out. 
 
 Dulcie pulled her head over on her own 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Don't you cry! I'm not realizing it, Kitty 
 May." 
 
 "It isn't a funeral," stated Mrs. General, 
 "and we are all making it worse. Let us be more 
 cheerful. It cannot last long. I think you are 
 wise not to try to realize it, Dulcie dear, so as to 
 keep up. You are in the right." 
 
 "I couldn't help thinking about, 'let no man 
 put asunder,'" said Dulcie simply. 
 
 Kitty May jumped as if shot. 
 
 "Yes, but there is a front to that. 'Whom 
 God hath joined.' He never joined you two. It 
 was just a mistake. If God had joined you two 
 I'd feel different; but God never does join 
 goodness to deceit nor right to meanness, and 
 He says in the Bible to 'eschew evil/ You are 
 eschewing evil that's all. Don't you worry!"
 
 344 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 At that moment the Colonel, very red in the 
 face, and the almost breathless Mr. John May, 
 came in hastily. 
 
 "Dulcie!" 
 
 "Yes, you are wanted now, my dear/' puffed 
 Mr. May, "and we'll take you in all right. 
 There's nothing to worry over. Everything is 
 going on beautifully, beautifully." 
 
 But when Dulcie was fairly out of the room 
 all the women wept, even Mrs. General, who 
 was furious at herself since she knew it was the 
 one thing fatal to her personal appearance. 
 
 Dulcie took Mr. May's arm and the Colonel's 
 hand. So supported, she seemed to float into 
 vast and unreal spaces. The large court-room 
 was as dirty and gloomy as possible. There was 
 a jumble of spectators back of a rail, a tired- 
 looking old man sitting up at a high bench or 
 desk. She took a solitary seat in front and heard 
 Mr. May's wheezing near her in the rear. Some 
 one asked her a trivial question or two, and, be- 
 tween answers, she seemed floating on a cloud, 
 away, away. Beamer Van Wye sometimes con- 
 versed in low tones with the judge, leaving her 
 the cynosure of curious eyes. 
 
 Presently there was a whack on the bench 
 and the tired voice said something almost in- 
 audible about being well acquainted with the 
 facts in this ca.se. He then growled out some-
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 245 
 
 thine additional to the clerk below and there 
 
 O 
 
 was an instant buzz and whisper through all the 
 room. Beamer Van Wye advanced and gave 
 Dulcie his arm and the Colonel and Mr. May 
 came close to her in the rear. At the corridor 
 door Lucian Beardsley, startlingly pale, and 
 his grave brother, were in wait. In the back- 
 ground crowded Mrs. General, much dishevelled, 
 and Lady Emily, very red-eyed. Dulcie stood 
 stupidly in their midst, wondering much. Sud- 
 denly she realized Colonel Buckman's words: 
 
 "Well, it's done! You are a free woman now, 
 Dulcie." 
 
 " Is that all there is to it ?" she asked vaguely, 
 even fearfully. 
 
 "Yes thank God!" said Beamer Van Wye. 
 He was mopping his forehead although it was 
 growing colder outside. "There was no defence 
 made." 
 
 " Don't see how there could be," said Fordyce 
 Beardsley nervously, "I don't see how there 
 could be, do you ?" 
 
 "You stood it very well," cooed Lady Emily, 
 fastening Dulcie's little cape affectionately, "but 
 do let us get out of this horrid place. Fordyce, 
 take your cousin, and Lucian will walk with 
 us." 
 
 " But I must first kiss Dulcie," broke in Mrs. 
 General, " for she did keep up so bravely."
 
 146 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 She bustled up and gave Dulcie a salute on 
 the cheek, then a little whisper in her ear: 
 
 "Now you say something nice to Lucian. 
 He is really neglected." 
 
 "Don't ask me to," said Dulcie, her lips 
 quivering, "it would break me right down." 
 
 "Later, then, I will tell him. He surely deserves 
 it and you are now absolutely free. It is no longer 
 wrong, foolish child. You are as free as air, free 
 to say, act and go as you please without any 
 scandal or comment." 
 
 Something upsoared in Dulcie's breast, some- 
 thing blinded her eyes. A mountain fell away, 
 a vista of freedom opened. 
 
 "Take care," said Lucian's voice, surely a 
 little husky, "there is a step. Why, Dulcie!" for 
 she was weeping. 
 
 To think with Lucian Beardsley was to act. 
 He threw open a door, and seeing a room empty 
 of people, swept Dulcie and Mrs. General right 
 into it. 
 
 "There will be people outside," he said briefly, 
 " and she must not cry. I will get a closed carriage 
 in a moment. And tell the others to go on." 
 
 It was but a gust, and Dulcie came into the 
 Pullman car for her ride to Grafton quite cheer- 
 ful.
 
 CHAPTER NINETEEN 
 
 METHINKS THE AFFRIGHTED EARTH SHOULD YAWN AT 
 ALTERATION 
 
 DAMME if I like it, Beamer!" 
 The Colonel occupied the best rock- 
 ing chair in what Linas called the 
 "bridal suit" of the Grafton House. His stock- 
 inged feet were elevated upon another chair. 
 Upon an ancient, marble-topped table between 
 him and Van Wye stood a black tray brave 
 with bottles, spoons, a sugar bowl, lemons and 
 glasses. On the stone hearth in front of a gen- 
 erous wood fire gently hissed a small iron tea- 
 kettle. 
 
 The lawyer, also coatless, sat with his hair 
 pushed back in great disarray. His feet were 
 far extended towards the heat. His long fingers 
 drummed nervously upon the table. 
 
 "Damme if I do like it!" repeated the Col- 
 onel, " and I half wish the thing were not done, 
 although I have helped it along since it really 
 247
 
 048 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 had to be done. I couldn't go up there," he 
 jerked his head to the north, "and feast and 
 laugh and talk rot. I cannot think of Dul- 
 cie there now. Lord, Lord! What is life any- 
 how?" 
 
 "Mrs. General observed to me only yester- 
 day," said Beamer Van Wye slowly, "that Para- 
 dise would probably be en fite to-night, aglow 
 of light on their successful return. There would 
 be a dinner especially composed for the occasion 
 an actual poem, you know. I ventured to ask 
 her what she considered appropriate for a feast 
 of disseverance, dissolution of partnership, etc. 
 She thought a moment and then cleverly re- 
 plied, ' 'Consomme a la bonne femme, fillet of 
 sole, roast heart, devilled game, Waldorf salad, 
 and Mother Eve's pudding.' That shows that 
 Mrs. General is not without wit and real com- 
 prehension of the situation." 
 
 The Colonel glared into the fire, wrathful at 
 once. 
 
 "What she doesn't know isn't worth know- 
 ing." 
 
 The lawyer took a small brown pipe from his 
 pocket and filled it carefully. As he lit it, he said, 
 over the tray : 
 
 "Has Beardsley ever dropped you any hints 
 as to what he wanted to do about Dulcie ?" 
 
 "Naw!" the Colonel dropped into his stable
 
 CHAPTER NINETEEN 249 
 
 boy's vernacular, "he don't hint. He shuts up 
 or says." 
 
 Van Wye blew smoke rings. 
 
 "We are all in a queer box. I wish we really 
 knew what Dulcie feels or wants to do. I have 
 not spoken to her alone for two months. I 
 didn't want to, somehow." 
 
 "Nor I, not after that Graham business. 
 We ought to speak we are her oldest friends. 
 She may not want to stay there, actually depend- 
 ent on him. I do believe, Beamer, he would just 
 as soon marry her to-morrow as marry her at 
 all. He seems utterly cut loose from all the old 
 ideas, much more so than that brother of his. 
 He thinks life is all for pleasure and happiness. 
 He is absolutely indifferent to anything we think 
 or feel whenever it goes against his desires. He 
 does not look upon a woman as we do. I've seen 
 him with the Hartopps and the Greathouse 
 girls. He treats them much as I do my helpers 
 if they're decent at all like sort of good fellows 
 whom he'd help in any way he could. I think he 
 feels much the same way toward Dulcie." 
 
 "You've hit it to a T," puffed Van Wye. 
 
 "He feels the lack of something we have at 
 times," meandered the Colonel, "and there is 
 where we bother him. He thinks we fuss over 
 things not worth while and that he will have to 
 humour us while he is here with us. I believe
 
 150 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 he will try to take her from Kentucky if he does 
 not marry her at once." 
 
 The lawyer took his pipe from his mouth and 
 smiled bitterly. 
 
 "I've thought of all this, and yet I have to 
 like the fellow for some things, Colonel. He is 
 absolutely fearless." 
 
 " 'Tisn't so much courage as indifference," 
 insisted the Colonel ; "we're old fogies, with old 
 fogy notions. He won't harry himself with our 
 particular worries and ideas. He expects to 
 lope through life on his money as he has always 
 done. There's only one key to the whole business, 
 and Dulcie holds it. She is free now. Is she go- 
 ing to be a puppet in the hands of those people, 
 or has she got snap enough to see her own fix 
 and to go her own way ?" 
 
 "She hasn't given me an idea as to how she 
 feels toward Beardsley," said Van Wye, slowly ; 
 "it has puzzled me." 
 
 "That's the Kentucky in her," returned the 
 Colonel, "and that's my sole hope of her. Dulcie 
 is standing right where she can get out if the 
 lightning strikes her and shows her the way. 
 The thing she does next will decide her whole 
 future. " 
 
 " I should say so, " retorted Beamer Van Wye. 
 
 A gust blew against the window panes and 
 there was the sudden hard beat of cold rain.
 
 CHAPTER NINETEEN 251 
 
 "Up at Paradise they are lively enough," ob- 
 served the lawyer. "You saw Beardsley's puz- 
 zled look when we backed out. " 
 
 "I could not go there," growled the Colonel. 
 "I didn't want to go home, either." 
 
 The lawyer coughed delicately. 
 
 "This has made a heap o' trouble between 
 Sudie and me," went on the Colonel, "but I'll 
 stay by her now and see it through, and trust 
 to time to soothe up Mrs. Buckman. I'm dead 
 tired of it. I'm wondering if it will do any good. 
 I'm sick of it, sick of it. " 
 
 "If only I knew what the girl was doing," he 
 went on after a silence, his mouth quivering. 
 "I'm a childless man and I can't forget how she 
 has turned to me when she was in her worst 
 troubles. A man ought to have children, espe- 
 cially when he is getting on in years. It keeps him 
 human. I feel her tears on my cheeks yet. I can't 
 tell you how I feel, but I know I cannot stand 
 what I do feel much longer." 
 
 "She has stood her world on its head, sure 
 enough," said the lawyer, "as women can. And 
 she has hid away her real feelings if she has any 
 liking for Beardsley. There's been nothing on her 
 part but a frightened hovering under Mrs. Gen- 
 eral's wing. I never saw her give him a single look 
 or act as if he existed. Dulcie is no light-minded 
 whippet. I cannot imagine her in those doings up
 
 z 5 2 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 there, coolly eating and drinking and listening to 
 the light remarks and even congratulations of 
 the others. No, sir, I cannot put Dulcie DeWitt 
 there at all. " 
 
 "Nor I," said the Colonel, "nor I. If only 
 Kitty May had stayed or John May. But no, 
 Kitty May was on the verge of tears when they 
 drove away. It is those moderns who do not 
 care, who think of divorce as they do of the 
 mumps or measles something unpleasant but 
 to be endured while it lasts. " 
 
 "Appendicitis is the fashionable disease," 
 murmured Van Wye. 
 
 "Appendicitis!" roared the Colonel; "of 
 course. May I die intact!" 
 
 "Lady Emily is a good woman," quoth the 
 lawyer, "but Beardsley in his heart thinks her 
 stupid. Dulcie is, after all, in the same hands she 
 has been in those of Providence. We've got to 
 come back to that as a sort of geological founda- 
 tion. 
 
 "Providence!" scoffed the Colonel, "Provi- 
 dence in the shape of a lot of moderns who do not 
 consider us of the same clay as themselves; who 
 sneer at my few thousands; who call me 'only a 
 hoss-dealer' ; who like Dulcie because of Lucian 
 Beardsley's whim; who hunt pleasure as a busi- 
 ness; who make their own creed; who are self- 
 seeking only and who put their own delights
 
 CHAPTER NINETEEN 453 
 
 above all of the things God made men and wo- 
 men for. Damme! now do let me swear, Beam- 
 er damme I tell you, I don't like Dulcie to 
 feel that she will have to marry Beardsley, willy- 
 nilly, or think it her duty to fall in love with him 
 out of gratitude. 
 
 "I wish we could see her," decided the Colo- 
 nel; " we will see her, you and I alone, and set 
 things plain before her." 
 
 The lawyer held up his hand. The "bridal 
 suit" was private enough to have a sort of vesti- 
 bule, and from this now proceeded voices. Then 
 a knock came at the inner door. 
 
 "It's only me, gentlemen," said the voice of 
 Linas. 
 
 Beamer Van Wye trod softly over the floor and 
 looked out. 
 
 " I jes' looked in ter see ef you war clothed up 
 yet," Linas said. "Mis' DeWitt that war form- 
 ahly is outen the passway now. She come ovah 
 with John Childress an' is honin' ter see ye all 
 ter-night fer some reason er other. " 
 
 "Give us five minutes, Linas," said the law- 
 yer, " and we will let her come in. " 
 
 In conventional array a few moments later, 
 the Colonel hurried into the hall. Dulcie De- 
 Witt, wrapped in a wet cloak and with her 
 head muffled up, was waiting with John Child- 
 ress.
 
 254 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "I want to see you real badly, Colonel," she 
 began. 
 
 "John, you go below and tell Linas you are to 
 get dry and to have what you want," ordered the 
 Colonel, "and wait until we send for you, d'ye 
 hear?" 
 
 He led Dulcie into the big room and both he 
 and the lawyer removed her wet wrappings. No 
 festal array was under them. Dulcie had put on 
 her black riding habit and not even a white collar 
 livened its gloom. 
 
 "I wanted to see you," she breathed a little 
 hoarsely. "I wanted to talk to you both so 
 much." 
 
 "You must get dry and warm first," said the 
 Colonel soothingly. "We wanted to see you just 
 as bad, Dulcie." 
 
 He tried to smile at her in his old way. 
 
 "I thought you were here." 
 
 "Wasn't you afraid to come out, you've been 
 so well taken care of up there ?" 
 
 "John would do anything for me," she said 
 gently, "and you know he used to carry me 
 around when I was little and had my father. You 
 remember. " 
 
 They placed a chair for her opposite them in 
 the warmth and fire-glow. She pushed back a few 
 strands of wet hair and put out her hands to the 
 heat. She looked white and frightened.
 
 CHAPTER NINETEEN 255 
 
 " It is so good to be with you, " she said slowly. 
 " I had to get away from all of it anyhow for 
 a while. I could not go to their dinner I could 
 not. I waited until they were all at it and then 
 hurried out of doors. I had to go away. " 
 
 "Dulcie!" exclaimed the Colonel, fascinated 
 by her tone, "what is all this ?" 
 
 "I had to be alone." 
 
 The men waited for her farther story and she 
 spoke to them as one impelled by unseen forces. 
 Out in the open voices began calling her when 
 the night came down. The same voices had called 
 her when Death had claimed her children and her 
 father. The barriers seemed down between her 
 and her unseen world. Shadow shapes ran close 
 to her and called her vaguely or clearly. She was 
 quite as wildly haunted by the fear or Dr. 
 DeWitt if she went beyond the garden. She looked 
 wildly about even there for fear she might meet 
 that terror from whom she would ever and always 
 flee her worst foe, the husband that had been. 
 
 Free ? Who would free her from that man ? 
 Nothing in heaven or earth. No God could be 
 powerful enough to erase the blots upon her 
 life, the scars upon her memory. Free ? She ran 
 in the wintry wind and cast up her desperate 
 hands to Heaven until they were torn by the 
 thorny, overhanging rose-boughs. Free, when 
 there burned in her heart that bad man's sneers
 
 256 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 and leers and awful words and curses ? Dulcie 
 realized now. They had never allowed her to be 
 alone, never let her think; but now this hour had 
 come and she had defied them and turned the 
 key on them all. 
 
 She was free to live her own life, but she knew 
 not where, and her soul revolted at an artifi- 
 cial one. O, for Aunt Sudie's breast, on which to 
 hide her awful grief! O, for that bitter misery 
 in the past that had been a duty " stiff" and holy !" 
 
 Presently, as she ran shivering to and fro, even 
 peering out at the gate and down the dark road, 
 there came the thought to her: "Why had 
 Colonel Buckman and Mr. Van Wye not come 
 with them to Paradise, but, in spite of expostu- 
 lations, left them at the railway station ?" They 
 were her old friends, they were very near and 
 dear to her. She wanted them, she must see them, 
 but she could not dare the road alone. 
 
 The night was dark and gusty. Sometimes a 
 few drops anticipated the cold rain. Suddenly 
 there came slipping and shuffling feet along the 
 gravel. Old John was making his round of the 
 gardens. She ran to him and she clutched his 
 arm ere he saw her at all. 
 
 "John, John, it's your Mis' Dulcie. Don't you 
 cry out. I do want to see Colonel Buckman so 
 much. He is at the hotel, John. You must go with 
 me for my father's sake. "
 
 CHAPTER NINETEEN 257 
 
 The old man stared at her in dismay. 
 
 "Lawd, you take ma breff! W'y ain't yuh in 
 dar whar dinner's gwine on, Mis' Dulcie ?" 
 
 "I couldn't, I couldn't. John, do go with me?" 
 
 " Marse Beardsley won't stan' for it, Mis' Dul- 
 cie. I knows dat. " 
 
 "Shall I go up there all alone ?" 
 
 "Lawd, no, no! Well, less us hurry. Soon gone, 
 soon come back. Yer won't stay no time ?" 
 
 "No, no!" 
 
 While they were on the way the rain came, 
 cold and pitiless. 
 
 "It seems as if I must go mad," finished Dul- 
 cie. "Have I done right or done wrong, and what 
 is to become of me ? I haven't any hold on any- 
 thing, Colonel, not anything at all. I seem in the 
 middle of nothing, and everything slipping 
 under my feet. Colonel, tell me what to do next ? 
 I don't know what is right or wrong. "
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY 
 
 SO TRUE A FOOL IS LOVE 
 
 THE commonplace, middle-aged horse- 
 dealer and the lawyer with the noble 
 forehead listened to Dulcie's words with 
 both fascination and terror. The exciting did not 
 often come into their lives. That instinct, the love 
 of the dramatic, which is implanted in every 
 human breast, had to be satisfied with what it 
 could glean out of every-day existence. Here was 
 true tragedy. A woman dear to both, held to them 
 by the intangible bond of unsatisfied fatherhood, 
 had risen above the doing of ordinary things and 
 thrilled them with the intensity of her hour of 
 suffering. In her they still saw the child Dulcie, 
 the daughter of their soldier-idol, Philip Child- 
 ress. As a child she had shared his popularity; 
 after his death she was not forgotten. To these 
 two men Dulcie DeWitt returned to-night with 
 no trappings of fashion, no new modes of speech 
 258
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY 259 
 
 or manner. She was certainly more beautiful than 
 ever before, but still the poor, broken, beseeching 
 Dulcie of Glen Farm. The two men rejoiced while 
 they shuddered, because they realized a strength 
 in the woman that had not been known as hers 
 in other days. They felt that, through wrong 
 and truth and woe and martyrdom, a char- 
 acter was emerging, one that grew triumphant 
 before their very eyes, even as an angel, with 
 wide, white wings, rose from a sepulchre long 
 ago. 
 
 In different ways both men realized this 
 change, and a courage came to them to once 
 more lay hold for her and work out a way to 
 better things. The Colonel, soldier-like, flew at 
 once to the breach. 
 
 "What are you talking about, Dulcie? After 
 we all have stood by you, too!" 
 
 "You mustn't help me any more, Colonel 
 dear." 
 
 The man gasped and sputtered an exclama- 
 tion. 
 
 "Because it's made great trouble for you, 
 and with good Aunt Sudie. She thinks she is 
 right, and maybe she is. I don't want to stand 
 between you two. Why, that would be wrong in 
 me!" 
 
 "Some one has been tattling again." 
 
 "Kitty May mentioned it. She knew I
 
 ifio THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 wouldn't like that at all. So, dear old Colonel, 
 you cannot help me any more. I was bound to 
 tell you." 
 
 "I am kicked out, am I ?" quoth the Colonel 
 grimly enough, "fairly given the mitten. This 
 is, I suppose, all in the new order of things. 
 How about your father's other friend and com- 
 rade, Beamer, here ? What have you to say to 
 him?" 
 
 The lawyer cleared his throat. 
 
 "I was your father's friend also, Dulcie," he 
 said gently, "and I stand ready to help you if 
 you will take it. " 
 
 Dulcie smiled more sadly. 
 
 "You cannot do much, either," she said, "for 
 though you are old enough to be my father and 
 I do trust you, every man who is kind to me hurts 
 himself as badly as he does me. That's how I 
 have studied it out." 
 
 Both men grew very red. The Colonel ral- 
 lied. 
 
 "What do you want to do, Dulcie ?" 
 
 She hesitated a moment, then burst out: 
 
 "Why shouldn't I tell you two ? I don't really 
 know. Something has a hold on me. I do not 
 come to any clear ideas. I used to be able to 
 decide things. When I try now, something par- 
 alyses me. I do not seem to be myself. I want 
 your advice as to what to do. "
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY 261 
 
 She spoke dreamily and turned her face to the 
 fire. The lawyer eyed her sharply, then made a 
 sign of caution to the Colonel. 
 
 "You are so worn out in your mind so very 
 tired," he said gently; "when better days come 
 you will find your decisions can be made at once 
 as they used to be made. When people have gone 
 through much mental stress and suffering all 
 things are confused and unbalanced. Time will 
 be very merciful to you. Time proves all 
 things. " 
 
 Dulcie did not seem to have heard all he said, 
 although she murmured a responsive "Yes" 
 while gazing into the embers. 
 
 The men watched her, amazed at the change 
 in her mood. Very softly, then, the lawyer pushed 
 an envelope over the table to the Colonel. On it 
 was one written word. The Colonel leaned over, 
 read it and ejaculated an ominous "Humph!" 
 At this Dulcie dropped the elbow which had 
 supported her chin and looked at them va- 
 guely. 
 
 " I was almost asleep or dreaming, " she 
 said softly. 
 
 How gently and gallantly the tall man stepped 
 to her side! How bright and soft his deep eyes! 
 There was real music in his voice. 
 
 "Dreaming, I hope," he said, "and of bright- 
 er, better days. This is the turning-point of your
 
 Z 6i THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 life, dear lady, dear child, as you still seem to us. 
 You have cast aside your past life and must take 
 up a new one. May it be a happier one, while it 
 can hardly be one any purer, any truer, any less 
 womanly. " 
 
 Dulcie's eyes filled. 
 
 "I am afraid of it afraid," she repeated, 
 tremulously. 
 
 The lawyer rose and stood before the fire. 
 There was a smile on his face, the saddest and 
 sweetest of smiles. His slightly-stooped frame 
 straightened, his voice took on splendid cadences. 
 
 "Dulcie, there was a great Persian once, full 
 of wisdom, who outlined our days in one line, 
 
 * The Moving Finger writes ' 
 
 and our own great master of English speech said : 
 * Thus must I from the smoke into the smother.' 
 
 Now, whether that Moving Finger directs you 
 from smoke to smother or from smother to 
 smoke, be yourself. You have fled away to- 
 night from pleasure because of the dictates of 
 your conscience. You have wept when you might 
 have laughed. You could not make a mock of 
 that which good men hold sacred. We love you 
 for it all, Dulcie, but it makes us very sad. You
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY 6j 
 
 should not take things so much to heart, you 
 should disregard our old-fashioned ways, you 
 should be light-hearted and merry and look for- 
 ward to happiness." 
 
 "You talk like Mrs. General!" cried Dulcie, 
 aghast. 
 
 " She is wise wise as a serpent. Dulcie, for- 
 give your two old friends. We have been, we 
 are, so full of concern for you that we could not 
 laugh or feast or make merry. We, too, have 
 wondered what you had better do. But there has 
 been an answer sent to us. I believe all that we 
 can say to you is, ' May the same Power and the 
 same Providence have you in hand that has be- 
 fore sustained you,' That is life's sunshine, and 
 sunshine is needed in a palace as well as in a 
 farm-house. " 
 
 " I do not understand you, Mr. Van Wye. " 
 
 "You will. There will be the master key. You 
 will know the why and the wherefore of every- 
 thing. Why I am a failure, and why the Colonel 
 is not happy, and why it would have been a ten 
 times fouler wrong for you to have gone back to 
 Glen Farm than we ever knew. The Moving 
 Finger has written out your destiny as it writes 
 it out for us all. It is coming to you now. " 
 
 The Colonel was on his feet. Some one again 
 knocked in no light fashion at the inner door. 
 The lawyer waved the Colonel away.
 
 164 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 "I will open it myself," he said in his most 
 languid tones. "I claim the right to let in Dul- 
 cie's destiny." 
 
 Dulcie flew to the side of the Colonel. She was 
 white and beautiful. 
 
 "Good-evening, gentlemen," said the lawyer, 
 "you have been expected." 
 
 The brothers entered the room, singularly 
 alike in the shadow. They were in evening dress, 
 disordered from a hasty drive through the rain. 
 In appearance they were certainly at war with 
 the ancient and second-hand splendour of the 
 " bridal suit, " with the two men and the woman 
 confronting them. 
 
 One of them stood forth. It was Lucian 
 Beardsley. Every other heart beat at his attitude, 
 his countenance, his expression. With folded 
 arms, with gleaming eyes, with terrible self-con- 
 trol, so he reverted back to his ancestry a sav- 
 age being holding himself well in leash. 
 
 For a moment there was an intense silence, 
 then the lawyer spoke: 
 
 "John did not lose much time, I see." 
 
 Fordyce Beardsley's lip was rather scornful. 
 
 "What is this, what does it all mean ?" 
 
 "Simply that Mrs. DeWitt's former life re- 
 asserted itself, and that she wanted to see her 
 father's old friends. You do not credit her with 
 the feeling she seems to have. "
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY 165 
 
 "Is she sorry she is free?" broke in Lucian 
 Beardsley. with a hard sound in his voice. 
 
 "We have not asked her," retorted the lawyer, 
 " and while I do not wish to anger you, Beard- 
 sley, I must say that you really know nothing of 
 our women. It is never 'off with the old and on 
 with the new* with our good mothers, sisters and 
 sweethearts. Dulcie's whole soul cried out for us, 
 who do understand all her past. She is sensi- 
 tive, suffering, and sorely hurt. To-night she was 
 broken-spirited indeed. Let her alone, or, at least, 
 let her be as free as she actually is. " 
 
 "Is she going to stay here?" asked Fordyce 
 Beardsley coldly enough. 
 
 "That is as she chooses. She was in too much 
 misery to count the cost of coming, remember 
 that," returned the lawyer, "and she shall do as 
 she pleases." 
 
 " Certainly, but she should consider the feel- 
 ings of my brother, my own wife, myself also. 
 We have befriended her." 
 
 "O you have, you have!" broke from Dulcie. 
 
 The Colonel put Dulcie behind with a strong 
 hand. He was red in the face and his voice shook 
 nervously: 
 
 "I can't say just what I want to say very ele- 
 gantly, like Van Wye here, but you all can un- 
 derstand me. You all must let Dulcie DeWitt 
 choose, and there will not be any better time
 
 266 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 than this, either. We're all smarting to the bone. 
 She owes it to we all not to harry us any more. 
 Mr. Lucian Beardley cannot have anything to do 
 with this girl's future unless he means to marry 
 her or she means to marry him in due time. In 
 due time, I say, for there will be no to-morrow's 
 marrying of Phil Childress's daughter after a di- 
 vorce if I'm a living man. If Mr. Beardsley 
 don't mean marry and Dulcie here don't mean it, 
 why, these two must surely separate and keep 
 separate for their own sakes and to save 
 talk. I don't believe in pushing aside any 
 kind of deals. Let us all understand each other 
 like plain, honest people. I will provide for 
 the girl some way or other, but, unless she 
 goes of her own will her future is assured to 
 me; you modern folks can't have her any longer. 
 There, Dulcie! There, Mr. Beardsley! Now you 
 all settle it. I've done my duty by old Phil, come 
 what will." 
 
 He held the woman close to the heaving 
 breast on which she had hidden her face long 
 ago. 
 
 "A common old hoss-dealer I am," he growl- 
 ed, "but I'm a Kentuckian, and a Kentuckian 
 never goes back on an honest woman in sore 
 trouble. Van Wye is with me. " 
 
 "To the end!" cried the lawyer, his eyes 
 bright, "to the end."
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY 267 
 
 The blood left Lucian Beardsley's face. He 
 seemed to grow taller. 
 
 "This is a most singular procedure. This is the 
 second time you have made that demand of me, 
 Colonel Buckman." 
 
 "I had reasons both times," retorted the 
 Colonel. 
 
 " Is this the way to woo your women ? " scorn- 
 ed the Virginian. "Ask her if she thinks this 
 fair if it suits her fancy ?" 
 
 "She can choose her life after you have said 
 your say," put in Van Wye, "but the Colonel is 
 right. If Dulcie is to remain in our plain life, she 
 had better not go back to Paradise. We will try to 
 find her a home and to aid her. " 
 
 "It does seem like coercion," broke in For- 
 dyce Beardsley, much excited; "it is not right or 
 fair to either of them. " 
 
 "O yes, it is, it is!" replied the Colonel, "it's 
 been a case of pollyfoxing around here and there 
 and no end of talk and wonder. Let's settle it once 
 for all and breath easy. Well, Mr. Beardsley, do 
 you answer me like an honest gentleman ? What 
 do you intend for Dulcie DeWitt in the future ?" 
 
 Then the unexpected happened. Dulcie aban- 
 doned the Colonel and ran to Lucian Beardsley, 
 whose arm she grasped while the tears ran down 
 her face. 
 
 " Don't you tell him, Lucian. You do not
 
 i68 THE ANCIENT LANDMARK 
 
 have to, after all your kindness to me. You do 
 not have to marry me at all, and I do not want 
 to marry any one or grieve you. I will go to Eng- 
 land with Lady Emily as she asked me to do. 
 Now don't you answer the Colonel, and don't 
 be angry with him, either. I would die for any 
 one of my kind friends, but you must not quarrel 
 over me. " 
 
 But Lucian Beardsley's face was transfigured. 
 He drew her to him and wrapped her in his In- 
 verness. 
 
 "Are you answered, gentlemen? She goes to 
 my brother, who guards her for me. I may not 
 be a Kentuckian, Colonel, I may not be an old 
 fogy or look at some things as you do, but I 
 am human. Here, Fordyce, take her for me. 
 Where's your cloak, Dulcie ? The women at the 
 house are frantic." 
 
 In a room empty enough, with the lamp smok- 
 ing and the embers on the hearth all burned out, 
 Beamer Van Wye spoke his conclusions to the 
 Colonel : 
 
 "We've seen an ancient landmark removed, 
 Colonel; there didn't seem any other way, and 
 we helped move it. But it certainly is a sobering 
 business; I hope down here we'll never get to 
 the point of doing it with pipes and dancing and 
 the sound of cymbals. I wish them joy from the 
 bottom of my heart; but I'll tell you somebody I
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY 169 
 
 wish joy more envious-like, and that's you and 
 Mrs. B. You're out of Dulcie's troubles now, and 
 you've got nothing to do but go home and make 
 it up. " He stood wringing the Colonel's hand. 
 "You don't care for anybody else in this world. 
 You are the people that I know '11 live happy 
 ever after." 
 
 In dramas of Shakspere have been found 
 lines which well head up some chapters in the life 
 of a Kentucky woman. 
 
 THE END 
 
 THE MCCLURE PRESS. NEW YORK
 
 A 000 131 416